


Vibrance

by wastelandfrenzy



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Depression, Drug Abuse, Explicit Language, Jealousy, Multi, No Storm in Arcadia Bay, Recreational Drug Use, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Workplace AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastelandfrenzy/pseuds/wastelandfrenzy
Summary: Max didn't realize just how hard her early twenties would be. The fact that she's stuck working in the same building as her old rival doesn't make things any easier. Struggling to make it on her own in the city, she finds herself unexpectedly thrown together with Nathan and Victoria as they navigate the pains of growing up.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Nathan Prescott
Comments: 118
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ayyy i'm back with more LIS content, who could have guessed i'd get my act together long enough to post something? since most of us have extra time on our hands now i figure we could use some new stuff.
> 
> here's a moodboard for the fic: https://i.imgur.com/42CAQaH.png
> 
> and here's a playlist for chapter one:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0c7NhwbQl9bjbiMb3FICL2NfijvgDTaf
> 
> stay safe, everyone

Day sixty-three at Precision Photo is proving to be just as spectacularly mind-numbing to Max Caulfield as day one had been. Monotone telephone rings, corporate policy handbooks, black flats that pinch her toes, glum public building fluorescents buzzing overhead. There are some days she can't believe she's ended up here. 

But she hadn't taken the temp job because she was passionate about selling high-end photography equipment—she'd taken it for the money. She wasn't under the delusion that some glamorous job would fall into her lap right after college; she'd have to start at the bottom and work hard to advance. 

Earning a living off of photography is no easy feat and there is no way Max can afford to live in Portland off of the measly cash she was making on the side from her photos. She can barely scrape by to afford a studio apartment as it is.

It's this that she repeats to herself for the millionth time as she scoops ground coffee into the paper filter and glances out the window at the morning traffic. She flicks the coffee maker on and restocks the napkin dispenser with a yawn. 

The office is still quiet. According to the clock ticking softly on the wall the boss will arrive in seven minutes. Max is kissing some serious ass by arriving before everyone else to get a jumpstart on her daily tasks. It's dismaying enough to have coffee brewing included in her responsibilities, but if she wanted them to hire her on permanently she figured she should bank all the favor she could get. 

Competition is fierce. It's a big company, and there are two other temps vying for the newly announced assistant-to-the-manager position. Not to mention the outside interviewees they'd bring in. And wouldn't that be humiliating, all three of them getting beaten by an outsider that hadn't even put in the grunt work. 

Benefits, paid vacation days, and a bigger desk? Max could almost taste it. She would come in early, alright. She'd come in and brew all the damn coffee they wanted—anything for the pay raise. If she got the job she could open a savings account. And decorate her apartment. Increase her photography budget. 

Precision Photo is split neatly in half, right down the middle like a perforated ticket stub. They take up both Suite F and Suite G on the second floor of the building they work in. Back when the company was founded they could fit all five departments in one, but due to high demands and stellar customer reviews they'd grown rapidly and had to expand. 

Max works in Suite G. Sales, customer relations, and marketing and design. HR and accounting are across the hall in F. 

Max's "desk" is a long table in the corner next to the copy machine. Which was ever so convenient when everybody dropped their documents onto the middle of her workspace for copying. She is pretty certain the guy she's filling in for didn't make everybody's copies for them, but she can't prove it. 

It's a safe bet what the rest of her day will be like. 

Employees will trickle in and head straight for the coffee in the break room. Lucia, one of the other temps, will totter in on four-inch heels and linger next to the water cooler and pretend that she doesn't want to talk about the wild escapades that she got herself into over the weekend. 

Once the coffee looks a little low people will start to shoot expectant glances in the vicinity of the copy machine, hoping that Max will get up and make another pot. She will. 

Then Mr. Hughes, "bossman extraordinaire," will walk in and flash some fakey all-star smiles at everybody. _How's my favorite team this morning?_ He'll give a little wink at Lucia on his way past the break room and disappear into his office, whistling a cheerful tune. 

Max will scan over dozens of Excel spreadsheets as numerous pages shoot out of the copy machine with a gust of hot air. She'll make phone calls she doesn't care about and eat Ramen noodles at lunch with her headphones on. 

The commute to her studio apartment is a twenty minute light rail ride across the Willamette. It will be crowded, and by the time she gets home she'll be too tired to make dinner and will fall asleep on the couch with a bag of chips watching a forensic files documentary. Rinse and repeat. 

\--

Corrine Lacey's head pops up over a nearby cubicle wall and she motions to Max. Max nods in response and saves the spreadsheet she's working on. She's got the chair with the wheel that sticks when you try to roll backwards and she forgets every time she tries to get up.

Their footsteps echo in the stairwell as she follows Corrine down to the lobby. All smoke breaks were to be taken at least fifteen feet away from the front doors, which led numerous nicotine addicts to be sprawled on the edge of the huge fountain in front of the building at any given time of day. Max doesn't smoke, but she says she does in order to bank on the extra breaks. 

The fountain is empty and Corrine sits downwind of Max and lights the cigarette she'd put behind her ear on her way down the stairs. Corrine's been working with Precision for a year and half already and was rallying for Max to get the permanent position. Her black hair has bangs cut straight across and she wears a small jeweled stud in her nose. She always has on the same blood crimson nail polish and can type faster than anybody else in the office. Corrine's a little older than Max but she isn't sure by how much. She slouches horribly and has a tendency to spit her words out in a machine gun burst and ended up having to repeat herself often. So far she's the only friend Max has made in the two months she's been there. 

"I banged my shin against the stupid table leg again," Max says. "I was here before Lucia, why does she get the fancy spare cubicle?"

"She only got that desk next to the break room because she blew the manager in the bathroom after her interview," Corrine says, taking a deep pull off her cigarette. Her lipstick stains the filter. "Once it's time to axe all you temps she's not gonna be able to hold a candle to you. Her work ethic impresses no one."

"I can't go back to retail. I'll shrivel up and die just like the plants in my apartment," Max says miserably. 

"You won't." Corrine rams her shoulder into hers. "They'll hire you. Fuck, _I'll_ blow him on your behalf, it'll be a sure thing."

"They better pick me. I'll bet you fifty bucks—that I don't have, by the way—that my mom's got my sheets ironed and ready to go, expecting me to move back home any day now."

"Where's home again?"

"Arcadia Bay."

"Small coastal hick town?"

"Sounds about right."

"Is it pretty there?"

"Surprisingly. Everything would be starting to bloom about now."

Corrine finishes her cigarette and steps on it. "So I think Margie has her eye on Lucia's desk. Closer to the snacks and whatnot. Good chance she'll switch places once Lucia gets the boot, leaving you an empty computer next to _moi_."

"I can only hope."

\--

"I heard he steals cars."

"He's a drug smuggler. He owes some high profile loan sharks a shitload of cash."

"How much longer do you think he's gonna be here?" Gum pops and crackles between her teeth.

"It can't be too much longer. All the temps will be gone soon. Annie had her baby almost two months ago and she'll be comin' back."

"How am I supposed to _survive_ without my daily glimpse of him in the elevator? The ass he's rocking under those suits of his is better than my morning shot of espresso."

Max puts her elbows on the table and covers both of her ears. The women in the cubicle nearby aren't even bothering to lower their voices. They're talking about Nathan Prescott and she wants to scream over the sound of the archaic copy machine chugging away next to her. 

Nathan was the third temp at Precision, hired when one of their employees started maternity leave. When she recognized him in the hallway for the first time she felt like she was having a violent hallucination. After Prescott's gun went off in the girl's bathroom their senior year, he'd been arrested and fallen off the map for the entire rest of the year. One of their teachers was arrested and it got out that Prescott had been helping him drug and photograph Blackwell students. 

Chloe Price, the girl he'd shot, didn't die that day. Her vitals stabilized in the hospital after her emergency surgery and though she didn't wake up for two days, she pulled through nonetheless. Chloe's recovery made a huge impact on Prescott's court case, as did the photographic evidence of him sedated along with another non-consenting student. The photographs had been taken when Prescott was still a minor, and one photo of him in particular of a sexual nature put Jefferson in even more serious legal trouble. 

Prescott had served little to no jail time once the details of his involvement came to light. He'd been victimized by this teacher, or at least that's how his lawyer spun the story in court. He went, presumably, to a rehabilitation facility for his drug abuse. That was the most Max could discern from her horrific senior year and the gossip that floated around Blackwell Academy.

Why, why, _why_ he had to get hired to do temp work at the same sales company as her was a mystery.

These women gossiping have no idea what they're talking about. And they definitely know nothing about Nathan Prescott, Max thinks.

\--

Max's studio apartment is small and she pays way too much for it. She's still grateful to have it; it's the first place she's ever lived that's all hers. The light rail runs directly parallel to her street and her building is across from a Chinese food place, a laundromat, and a corner shop. 

After she graduated from Blackwell, Max studied photography and business at the state university for four years. Her mom and Kate Marsh had spent the weekend with her after she graduated and officially signed her name on the lease. They'd put together a bookshelf and hung a couple pictures while Kate lined the kitchen cabinets with contact paper. Clothes hung, dishes stacked, towels folded. When they left, the silence was eerie, and she'd had to learn the sounds that the water heater and the fridge made before she quit waking up in the middle of the night so much.

On Saturday she is famished and decides her splurge for the week will be delivery. Dialing the place across the street, she orders potstickers, garlic chicken, and a heap of chow mein. 

When Max checks her email she's disappointed to find no follow ups to the freelance gigs she'd responded to. Her job at Precision was looking more and more like a dire necessity to stay afloat. The guy she was filling in for was out on worker's comp apparently—some incident with a wet floor in the bathroom. He'd broken both elbows when he fell and was still waiting for the okay from his doctor to come back to work. She'd heard around the office that he was the kind of deadbeat to exaggerate his pain for the long haul in order to continue vegging out at home. 

Max hasn't heard from her mom lately and answers immediately when she sees her name light up on her phone screen.

\--

It's a Tuesday and Max has her fingers wrapped around a takeout coffee from down the street. She is crammed into the elevator during morning rush hour, her nose itchy from spring allergies, and the leftover rain clinging to everyone's coats and shoes makes everything smell damp. 

She doesn't realize Prescott's in the elevator with them until she feels one of her earbuds being tugged out of place. When she turns to look he's placing it in his own ear as if they do this every day. Did she miss the memo where they became friends overnight? 

Max sees him flirting with other employees sometimes. Does he really think she's interested in joining his fan club?

She and him previously had a good thing going on that consisted of the two of them ignoring each other completely. If he recognized her that first day he'd thankfully kept it to himself. So what the hell is this?

It seems irrational to snap at him in the confined space with all these strangers in close proximity. His mannerisms are so calm that it also seems irrational to yank the headphone back. 

By the time they slide up to their floor she's composed a firm but professional snub in her head, but before she can begin he returns her earbud as smoothly as he'd taken it and the elevator quickly empties. She's still rooted to her spot. He says, "Interesting choice," and steps out, remarkably unbothered and heads for Suite F. She's the last one there and it isn't until the elevator doors start to close on her that she snaps out of her frozen stupor.

\--

On Friday, Corrine invites Max out. 

"It's my cousin's birthday and a bunch of us are going to this piano bar downtown. Half-priced drinks and live music." Corrine stops typing and looks up at Max draped over the cubicle wall. "You should come."

Max hasn't been invited anywhere since she moved to Portland and jumps at the chance to socialize. 

Unfortunately it does not go well. The music is good but she's worn the complete wrong thing and it's awkward not knowing anybody else at their table. Corrine's friends are rowdy and mostly talk about other people she doesn't know. 

The bar is dark, with twin spotlights on the piano. Tables and chairs crammed so tight there's barely any room to move around. People drop tips and requests on scraps of paper provided at their tables into a jar on stage. Max drinks too much out of nervousness and tries to join in the spirited cheers when Corrine's cousin sits provocatively on the edge of the piano during her birthday song but Max's stomach feels knotted and the night is going all wrong. 

One of the guys keeps putting his hand on Max's leg and doesn't seem to notice when she repeatedly throws it off. She's about to lose her temper when Corrine notices. 

"Fucking hell, Boris, bring your own friends to feel up! By all means, keep going if you wanna get dick-punched."

When the show is over and everybody pours out onto the sidewalk, warm and fuzzy from their cocktails, Corrine speaks in a low voice. "There's construction on my street so the water's off tonight. Is it cool if I hitch back with you?"

Max nods and watches the colors of the traffic blur together. The group has many choice words for Corrine for ditching them early, but in the end they exchange their _nice to meet yous_ with Max and continue on their way.

Corrine and Max stumble onto the train. Everything they say is hilarious and her head spins a little and Max focuses on a free clinic banner above their seats until it stops. Corrine's silver bracelets catch the reflection of the passing streetlights as she pulls the tiniest flask out of her coat pocket. 

"Shh," Corrine giggles even though Max hasn't said anything. She ducks low, pretending to lace her boot and tips the flask backwards. She offers it to Max, and when Max doesn't even bother concealing it as she finishes the last bit Corrine barks laughter. 

"I've seen people do way worse shit on the train," Max says. "Gross, what _was_ that?"

"You don't want to know." Corrine wipes her mouth. "Just be glad it only takes one shot of it to get the job done."

They reach Max's stop and a woman clutching her designer purse like a trophy gives them a dirty look as they climb off the train. 

Corrine tugs her skirt to cover a hole in her leggings and lights a cigarette. She says, "Sorry about those lame assholes," as they walk down the street. 

"What?"

"My stupid cousin and her friends. She lets me use her employee discount at Burlington Coat so I felt obligated to come to her birthday. And I shamelessly used you as an excuse to leave early."

"Oh. Very nice."

"I told them you were sick and needed someone to take you home."

"But you're gonna make it up to me. That's why you shared your booze and plan on paying for breakfast tomorrow, right?"

"Exactly, you catch on quick." She exhales and smoke dissipates into the night air. 

Corrine proves to be just as nosy as Max is and spends the first five minutes relentlessly looking through all of her stuff once they get to her apartment. 

"Private school?" Corrine's eyebrows shoot way up when she sees her yearbook on the bookshelf. She drops to the floor and thumbs through the pages. "Never would have guessed that. Nobody at work knows a single thing about you, you know. You're the office enigma."

"Are you kidding? There's not enough going on with me to be an enigma."

"Tell that to the office. You ask everyone about their problems and don't ever say anything about yourself." Corrine pulls her boots off with a yank and tips over onto her elbow. "Shit."

Max is fully drunk and wanders to her refrigerator to dig out some leftover chow mein and eggrolls. They sit at the coffee table and eat everything cold from the cartons and the salt and grease tamps down the liquor and it is somehow the best meal they've eaten all day. 

Corrine is a chronic channel-flipper and never lets anything play for longer than four minutes, the remote perpetually glued to her fingertips as she chatters away. "Jasper is gonna be so pissed that I didn't come home tonight."

Max finishes her crispy eggroll and licks her fingers. "Is that your boyfriend?"

"Fuck, no! That's my cat." Her laughter dissolves into a snort. "I haven't put out since like 2014. Nobody's interesting enough to have sex with anymore. Always end up kicking 'em to the curb before things even get started. I mean, I'm not just gonna fuck any random dumbshit, you know? And then they get all offended. 'Oh, but Rina baby, I shelled out sixty bucks for this date,'" she says mockingly, lifting her coat from the floor and pulling out a cigarette with jerky motions. Max is too inebriated to care that she lights it inside. "As if paying for dinner entitles you to a hand jerk in the men's room. You know what I'm talking about."

"Um, yeah."

Her teeth clench the cigarette. "Miss me with that shit."

"I actually don't know," Max amends. "The only serious boyfriend I had was in high school. He wasn't exactly the bathroom sex type. More like meet parents, work up to arm-around-shoulder, kiss on the doorstep, celebrate anniversaries by month."

"Dear God."

"There was nothing wrong with that, but none of it was exciting to me. I'm not a reckless thrill seeker or adrenaline junkie or anything but I never looked forward to any of our milestones and I think you're supposed to feel...more."

"Fuck yeah, dude. Good to catch that early."

"Well, it didn't turn out to be early enough. I got comfortable because I could see him as a friend and by the time I ended it he was really mad. He couldn't believe that I let things go on like that if I truly didn't have the same feelings for him."

Corrine nods. "Magic Dick Syndrome. I can't tell you how many guys expected that I'd be head over ass in love with them just because we'd had sex. Sound about right?"

"He couldn't believe it! It's like he was following some generic step-by-step movie relationship. It didn't feel as if he was treating me like a person. It was like I could have lifted right out and another girl simultaneously slid in to replace me and it wouldn't have made a difference. Does that make sense?"

"Guys like that have a concept about what they think their girlfriend should be like. They walk around carrying this hermit crab shell and they just shove it over every person they date and then cry about it if their stupid image of them doesn't match up. He tried to cram you into his shell and when you didn't fit he made it out to be your fault."

"Unbelievable."

"What the fuck," Corrine suddenly exclaims. She leans forward and squints at the picture of Nathan Prescott in the yearbook in front of her. "Is that the _temp_? The one over in F that Lucia wants to bone?"

"We went to the same school," she says icily. 

She stubs her cigarette out in the empty Chinese carton and motions excitedly. "This is what the fuck I'm talking about, how have you not told me this before?"

Max shrugs uncomfortably. "Didn't come up."

"What's the deal? You guys never talk at work."

"He accidentally shot a girl at school and he was arrested. Or at least he says it was accidental."

"Holy shit!" She finally sets the remote down. "I'll bet _he's_ into bathroom sex."

She jolts at the thought of Nathan Prescott screwing somebody in a public restroom which strikes her as odd because it's obviously no worse than _shooting_ somebody in a restroom. "Corrine."

"Alright, alright. So you're saying he did it on purpose?"

"I don't know, he sure was stupid enough to bring it in the first place. I was there when it happened and he definitely freaked out when the gun went off. It could have been an accident, I guess. She lived, though. His family has a lot of money and he used to get away with all kinds of stuff until he got arrested."

"Stuff."

"Aggressive outbursts, drugs, partying. A teacher was drugging students and it turned out Prescott was tied up in it."

"Are you kidding? That's heavy. What a damn shame he's a psycho, 'cause I can see why Lucia wants to jump him. With the cheekbones and the smoldery eyes and trim Italian suits?"

"Pass."

Corrine smirks at Max's indifference and picks the remote back up. "Who knew seeing a guy shoot somebody would be such a turn off."

"Yeah, fancy that. We didn't get along before then, either. He was constantly bullying me. We fought for the top spot in art class since we were both into photography. He was such a jerk."

Later when Max can't keep her eyes open any longer she stumbles to her bed in the corner of the room by the light of the TV still flickering and casting Corrine's face in shadows. 

Max assumed she'd sleep on the couch but when she wakes up the next morning Corrine is sprawled on her stomach in the seldom-used left side of the bed. The pile of clothes that usually occupy that space have been kicked to the floor. 

She still hears muffled noise from the television so she gets up and turns it off. There are birds in the tree outside and Max's head pounds like a drum. She drinks two glasses of water in a row and throws away the cigarette butts on the coffee table. 

Corrine wakes with a start, shooting upright in one fluid motion. 

"That was a mistake." She immediately massages her forehead and gets out of bed more slowly. Black is smudged underneath both of her eyes. 

"Breakfast? Or maybe an aspirin or two?"

"Yeah. My head's killing me and I'm craving something cooked in bacon grease." Corrine walks to the bathroom bare-legged, black lace peeking out from underneath her t-shirt. 

Later Corrine pays for breakfast just like she promised and disappears onto the Orange Line some time later, sunglasses on and coat collar pulled high. Max can relate; her head doesn't stop throbbing until that evening. 

\--

It's the following Monday and Max feels completely rejuvenated, having used the whole weekend to hydrate and stuff herself with some badly-needed carbs. The security guard has only just unlocked the building for the morning and it's like a ghost town, just how she likes it. 

She presses the button for the elevator and when the doors slide open and she realizes Prescott is standing there looking bored, she almost doesn't get in. He stares at her and she stares back. 

Sharp jaw, crisp collar, leather shoes. Since when does he come in to work early? She steps in the elevator and thinks how different he looks since school. Had he gone to college after the rehab? Reminding herself she doesn't really care she steps out smoothly onto their floor and heads for suite G, feeling his eyes on the back of her neck.

Shrugging off her coat, she drapes it on the back of her chair and carries her Tupperware into the office kitchen. She had taken what Corrine said about her seriously, and resolved to get to know people better and to be less superficial around the office. Hence, the Tupperware full of brownies she'd protected so vigorously on the train ride over. Always a good way to score some points.

Suites F and G shared a break room and a kitchen. Max knows this, yet she's still jarred at seeing Prescott sitting at a table with an empty mug waiting for the coffee to brew. It'd be too obvious to turn and leave so she busies herself with opening the brownies on the counter, selecting a mug from the cabinet (the Garfield one), and preemptively grabbing the creamer from the fridge. The coffee maker gurgles cheerfully and Max is regretting her decision to stay. Especially when he crosses the room and uses two fingers to pluck a brownie out of the container with surgical precision.

"Those are for G only." Max doesn't know why she says it. It's petty and she doesn't give a shit who in the office eats her brownies. Not really. But she's annoyed for some reason and can't help herself. 

She stares at him like they had in the elevator except this time it's a challenge and it rises from a place she didn't know existed before now. A crumb falls onto his immaculate shirt front as he bites into it and somehow manages to make it look decadent. It's deadly silent until the coffeemaker gives a traitorous hiss of steam. 

He's using a Calvin and Hobbes mug and he fills it near to the brim. She can see the neat curve of his bicep through the sleeve of his suit. Only the blackest coffee for the blackest of souls. She nearly snorts at her own dramatic thoughts. He exits the door to F and she can finally get her coffee in peace. 

\--

It's Thursday. Max hears rain beating on the windows while she polishes up her CV. The job applications are due in two weeks and she wants to perfect her cover letter. She's focused on the rhythmic clacking of keyboards and low rumbling of the train outside and doesn't notice Prescott looming over her until his shadow creeps into her peripheral vision. 

Her heart leaps and she minimizes her word document. He looks angry and he's crackling with tension.

"Thanks so fucking much for spreading it around the office about the gun. I was almost starting to forget what it was like to have everyone around me talking about it at once. So really, this has been a delight." He is just as biting and sarcastic as she'd ever seen him and Max's eyes scurry around the room. Busted. She was not expecting to get in trouble for that one. 

He's broken the unspoken rules again, specifically the one that kept Fs and Gs on their own corresponding ends of the building. 

"I—I didn't—"

"Don't bother lying," he snaps. "You're the only one here who knew about it."

His eyes spark and he looks like he wants to say more. His silver watch glints in the light as he straightens his suit jacket with a sharp snap. He storms away, his strides even and measured, like he doesn't want to draw attention to himself.

Max darts her eyes to the nearest cubicle wall with an angry glower and Corrine's head ducks out of sight like a ground squirrel rushing for cover. A ground squirrel guilty of blabbing all over the office.

She rolls her chair backwards and the wheel sticks. Gripping the walls of the cubicle, she leans over it and hisses, "Corrine, what were you thinking! I told you that in private."

Corrine's face cringes up. "I know, I know. I swear, I only told Dexter!" She chews the red polish on her pinky nail. Dexter has one of the cubicles next to hers and is loudly fake-typing from behind the little half wall at the mention of his name. 

Max lowers her voice further and gestures in frustration. "He's the worst one," she insists. "He and Lucia spend like eighteen minute intervals at the water cooler!"

"I'm sorry." Her face is still scrunched in shame. "I have no self-control. My life lacks excitement. I have to live vicariously through others. I crave the acceptance of my co-workers." She peeks up. "Any of these sticking?"

"Ha ha. I'm going to kill you."

"With your schedule? I thought you had a cover letter to finish."

"I'm penciling you in for strangling at four."

"Call my secretary. We'll set it up."

\--

Max can't think of anything worse than the upcoming company picnic. It was annual, apparently. And it was going to be "extra fun." Or so Mr. Hughes kept telling them repeatedly the whole week before. Max is pretty sure that actual fun things aren't mandatory. And didn't include words like "morale-boosting" and "team-building."

It's a Saturday, and the warmest day of spring so far. Everybody looks relaxed in short sleeves and instead of sales reports and coffee mugs they're gripping paper plates of barbecue chicken and cups of lemonade—an occasional Frisbee or two. 

Max sits with Dexter and Corrine, both of whom have stacked their paper plates three deep in order to support the weight of short ribs, chicken, three bean salad, grilled corn, and biscuits. Nothing on the table was safe except the tofu burgers. They're going back for cupcakes later.

"Best part about these things," Dexter says through a mouthful of biscuit. "The free food."

"Free food," Corrine agrees. They're like ravenous hyenas. Max is certain that by the end of the day they'll have smuggled out the equivalent of an entire rotisserie in Corrine's giant purse. It's the same purse she uses to steal office supplies.

Mr. Hughes has some group activity they're all supposed to participate in later and everyone seems to collectively dread it, which helps Max feel slightly better. She picks at her chicken and her salad. Dexter spikes the three of their lemonades and Corrine's mood improves drastically. 

"I hear you're the one to talk to for dirty secrets about Nathan Prescott," Dexter says, and receives a sharp elbow from Corrine. He has coppery orange hair and it looks yellow in the direct sun rays. He keeps stopping to spray more SPF 50 on himself the hotter the afternoon gets. 

"You heard wrong, actually. We were never friends."

"Excellent, then you should have no reservations about talking behind his back." 

She shakes her head and refuses to rise to the bait.

The park restrooms are in a squat brick building on the other side of the picnic benches. Max rinses her face and dries her hands and when she comes out she can smell fresh cut grass and hear kids on the playground and she almost doesn't register the sound of angry shouting. It's coming from the left of her and she follows the raised voices. 

In the parking lot Prescott is in the midst of a heated argument with a man she's never seen before in glasses and a cheap red jacket that looks too heavy for spring. 

"I dropped it off, you got your payment. It's over, man." Prescott's eyebrows knit together as he says this. It's the first time she's seen him out of work since she started there and he's wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt rolled up to his elbows.

"Really, was that the deal?" the man says mockingly. He removes his glasses and carefully pockets them. "You go back and tell him I don't like waiting two weeks in between deliveries."

Prescott is facing her and when he spots her over the man's shoulder he looks away quickly, redirecting his gaze on the threat in front of him. His hand gesture could be construed as nervous energy, but Max sees the message clearly: stay back.

Another man with hollow cheeks and a wiry frame gets out of a nearby car and they close in on Prescott simultaneously. Whatever he's saying to them is too quiet for Max to hear. She glances around and wonders why nobody is paying any attention to this. 

The second man strikes his fist like a viper straight into Prescott's ribs. He doubles immediately and the guy in the jacket takes a nasty swipe at the side of his head, sending him stumbling to the pavement. The first guy buries a sharp toe into his side for good measure. 

Maybe because she could never bear to see anybody get hurt, maybe because she feels sorry for inadvertently setting a blazing wildfire of gossip about him—either way, she stays out of sight and kicks the bumper of an expensive-looking car nearby. The alarm chirps and blares through the happy park buzz, and both men look up at the distraction.

Prescott scrambles to his feet, hunched slightly in self defense. His eyes dart wildly between them. They loom over him menacingly. Whatever they say to him is lost in the shrill alarm. People begin to crane their necks at them curiously. 

She contemplates kicking another car but the two men climb into their vehicle to leave. Asphalt crunches beneath the tires.

Now Prescott is looking straight at her when she approaches as if he's gauging her reaction to the whole thing. Max takes out her phone and he knows exactly what she's thinking.

"Don't." His fingers cover her phone before she can dial the police. "I mean it."

"But I saw their license plate." She takes her hand back quickly. It's strange for him to be touching her.

"Don't," he repeats and there's an air of finality in his tone that she doesn't push a second time.

He touches his tongue to the smear of red at the corner of his lip and winces. 

"So what the hell was that, then?"

"Not your problem."

"Two guys kick your ass in broad daylight during a company picnic and it's nothing?"

"I didn't say it was nothing," he snaps, swiping at a black smudge on his elbow from his fall. He smooths his hair. "I said it wasn't your business. It's me, remember? Why should you give a shit?"

With that statement he realigns their situations with a harsh shove. He is not a co-worker in trouble, he's Prescott and she's Caulfield. He's a rich asshole and she's—well, whatever she is, they do _not_ get along. 

"Whatever," she finally says. He seems satisfied at her stiff tone and brushes past her to get to the restrooms. 

"Try to keep fucking quiet this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be up saturday 4th april


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kind reviews so far! they help keep me going at this.
> 
> here's a playlist for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0c7NhwbQl9a8du8GW6yqLlau8yV6ZTdH
> 
> and here's a moodboard/aesthetic i made for corrine lacey: https://i.imgur.com/lZnSuO5.png

* * *

By the time the next all-staff meeting rolls around, Prescott's lip looks almost healed. Not that she's been paying attention or anything. They all sit in the conference room while Mr. Hughes talks at them. His hairline is receding and there is a gap in his front teeth that Max can't help staring at. Eventually he gives up the floor to the department heads and Max sneaks another sideways glance at Prescott while they speak. 

What had he gotten himself into that involved guys showing up to threaten him at work functions? Whenever she sees him he looks fairly unremarkable. Well-dressed and usually bored. Now that she knows he's hiding something, every facial expression holds a different weight. She keeps telling herself that it can't be anything good and she doesn't want to know. Her curiosity burns despite this. 

Prescott's eyes flick to hers, irritated at being watched and she turns back to the projector at the front of the room. 

When the boss mentions the assistant-to-the-manager position and encourages the three temps to apply, Max notices Prescott's face light up. So he's going for the promotion, too. 

At three o'clock sharp Max heads down to the fountain outside, Corrine venting about her landlord raising the rent on her apartment again. The fountain bubbles softly and the air is warm. She thinks about just how lonely she'd been in Portland until she started talking to Corrine in the break room one morning. Corrine drank endless cups of sugary tea throughout the day and spent plenty of time in there. 

She's ripped out of her reminiscence when a strange man catches her eye. No—a _familiar_ man. Something unsettling about him. Her heart leaps when she realizes it's one of the men she saw at the picnic. Same paunchy build, like he'd been a weightlifter in his youth and had filled out in the years since. While she hadn't gotten too close a look at his face that day in the park, she can see now that he has broad features, a wide mouth and eyes set too far apart. It's his jacket that she recognizes more than anything. The cheap red material.

"You okay?" Corrine asks, finishing her cigarette.

"Yeah, just zoning out," Max answers. The man sits across the street at a table outside a coffee shop. Based on the dishes in front of him he's been there for a while. It can't be a coincidence.

Back upstairs she hesitates to take any action but remembers the big scene they'd made in the park. She lingers in the break room. Nobody pays a large amount of attention to her and up until now she hasn't abused her freedom. 

An indefinite chunk of time passes and still nothing. She'd been hoping they could just "happen" to run into each other. Max creeps to the window and looks down at the street. The man is still sitting there.

Oh, well. If Prescott can walk across the hall and give surprise desk visits so can she. She walks into suite F feeling like an imposter amongst the accountants and HR reps. Luckily his desk is right at the front and she's spared the embarrassment of wandering around looking for him. 

"Um..." 

If he's surprised to see her there he doesn't show it. He levels his gaze to hers.

"That guy from the picnic last Saturday is camped in front of our building? He's across the street and I thought you might like to know." She speaks in a low voice in case anyone is listening, but it would appear that everyone is in their post-lunch zombie stupor, morning caffeine having worn off. 

Her words electrify him and he lights up with discomfort. Rising from his seat, he walks into the break room and she follows. He lifts a single slat of blinds and peers onto the street below exactly as she'd done. He scrubs his jaw and gives Max a weird look.

"Do you know anybody that—" Thinking better of it, he starts again. "So why come give me a heads up?"

She shrugs unconvincingly. "I thought it would be best to avoid a _Fight Club_ reenactment on company property." 

The look on Prescott's face is unsure. He's still trying to figure her out. 

"Look." He snaps out of it. "I don't see this being a recurring issue, but if you see this guy around here again can you text me?" He says it like it takes all his effort to force the words past his lips, and when she hesitates he pushes further. "I'm just trying to keep my job."

"Fine, whatever," Max says, resigned. 

Oh, this is an obvious mistake. She already regrets agreeing as he scribbles his cell number on a napkin and slides it over to her like he's picking her up in a bar. It's tempting to leave it on the table but she takes it regardless. 

There is no way she's programming the number into her phone. 

\--

"Max!" Lucia gushes like she's just so happy to see her. Her thick brown hair shines and her eyeliner is drawn into a perfect wing. She clutches a thick packet and Max can already guess where this is going. "I'm in deep water here. Mr. Hughes needs eight copies of this made for his executive conference and I am so behind. Could you be an angel and get these started for me? I just need to pop downstairs to get the mail but I'll be up to finish them. I owe you big time."

She sets the packet on the table. "I know these are two-sided but Mr. Hughes wants it copied on the front only for easy flipping. And make sure these graphs are in color. And can you print the budget sheet on the—what do you call it—the thick fancy paper. With the embossing. I _love_ your sweater, by the way. It is so so cute." She says it like she's talking to a grade-schooler on picture day. "Thanks!" She waggles her fingers and they both know good and well that she won't be up to finish making the copies.

\--

The next week is terrible. Prescott has started consistently coming in early and three days in a row she'd come into the break room early and found the coffee already brewed. He holds the elevator door when he sees her coming. The wheel on her shitty chair has been mysteriously fixed. She can't prove it's him but her gut tells her it is. Being in his spotlight makes her overthink everything.

There are other things too. When Max heads to the front to sign for a paper delivery, the receptionist waves her away. Says it's been taken care of already. When she checks the sign-in sheet she finds Prescott's slashy signature in the last row. She finds the reams of paper neatly tucked away into the supply closet.

"Stop doing things for me." By the time Max corners him at the end of the week her patience is thin as paper. And _not_ the fancy kind with the embossing. She practically hisses it at him in the elevator as soon as the doors close. "It's creepy and I hate it."

"Wow, so it's utter contempt that dissolves your filter. I was wondering how to bypass all those layers of passive-aggressiveness and small talk you wrap yourself in every morning."

"I get that you think I spread lots of gossip and I'm going to tell everybody about those Durden guys in parking lot. But that last time was me confiding in the wrong person and it won't happen again. Whatever mess you've gotten yourself into isn't my business, just like you so helpfully pointed out. So quit trying to do my job."

"Okay."

A beat passes.

"If you really thought I was going to tell, why not try to bribe me like a normal rich guy? Why go through the trouble of the coffee and the deliveries and the inventory supply?"

"I guess I really suck at being a rich guy."

She can't tell if he's making fun of her or not. The elevator doors open smoothly and he gestures grandly with his arm, _ladies first_. As if he's such a gentleman. 

Back at her desk she suddenly wonders how hard he's rallying to snag this job opening. 

_I guess I really suck at being a rich guy._ Why on earth was he working as an entry-level temp at a sales company? Surely his dad could have gotten him something a bit more impressive. Hell, his dad owned the prestigious Prescott Foundation. He owned over half of Arcadia Bay. So why wasn't he there? Did he need the cash? 

Alarmed, she continues to polish her resume, searching the internet for hacks and correct formatting, frequently asked interview questions that she could memorize a script for. 

\--

In a bold move that impresses even Max, Prescott seems to have discovered a way to get the office back on his side again. 

The email pops up in her inbox with a little blip. It's an invitation to a party he's throwing. She checks the recipients and sees that he's sent it to the whole office. Risky considering all of the gossip about him lately. 

By the next day everybody is buzzing about the party. It's all they can talk about and it appears that everyone is going, not deterred by his past scandal in the slightest. 

Max thinks about what Corrine said about nobody knowing anything about her. A party seems a good opportunity to mingle. She bites her lip in contemplation. It couldn't hurt, right?

She watches him in the elevator when it's time to go home. 

He sure doesn't look like a temp. Between his expensive clothing and the self-assured way he holds himself (ingrained from his Prescott upbringing, no doubt) he seems to command a certain element of respect. 

Max doesn't figure anybody over in F was asking _him_ to make copies for them.

\--

Max is late when she steps off the train near Prescott's building. The address he'd given out led to a perfectly mid-ranged apartment building. Given the shocking amount of money his family was known for, she'd been expecting something a little swankier. 

When she finds the correct unit number and knocks, a man from sales that she doesn't know opens the door for her. By the looks of it the entire Portland branch has shown up. Certainly everybody from the F side at least. His apartment isn't necessarily what she would call cozy, but he's made more of an effort than she has at her own place to hang things up on the walls. All of the furniture matched, and there was a pool table in the dining room that seemed to be getting a lot of use. He hadn't skimped on the food or drinks, and Max figures this is why so many of their coworkers keep coming up to him and slapping him chummily on the shoulder. 

She can't find Corrine anywhere. Corrine _promised_ she wouldn't ditch out and it's the main reason Max talked herself into coming. She texts her a knife emoji and hovers near one of the surround speakers. After she doesn't get a response, she changes her tactic and texts her that there's a truckload of expensive food here. 

So far what she's learning about Prescott contradicts everything she knows of him. Everything about him had come in excess; too much money, too much anger, too much popularity. Now he seems to fall somewhere in the middle of the scale. He's milder all throughout and it makes Max want to pick his brain.

The blonde girl that passes immediately in front of her is wearing plum lip stain and a designer suede skirt and when she recognizes her as Victoria Chase and blurts, "Holy shit," it's completely involuntary. 

"Holy shit is right," Victoria says, giving her full attention. "Maxine."

"Max."

"Max, right. What's _up_ with you, it's been forever."

She'd heard all about Victoria Chase after they'd graduated. It's hard to avoid it when an old classmate starts to make it big time. Between her contest winnings and the high-profile magazine shoots she'd landed, Victoria was creating quite a reputation for herself. Knowing this, Max is embarrassed when she has to say that she's doing temp work. 

She expects Victoria to make fun of her, but instead she sips her drink and nods. "Cool, cool. I think I remember Nathan mentioning you worked at the same company. Man, it's good to see somebody here I actually know. 

"So what are you doing at an office party?"

Victoria smooths her hair; her fingernails are neatly manicured with cream-colored polish. "Oh, I'm just here as Nathan's moral support."

"Why would he need moral support?"

She only smirks and tips her head a little, like an inquisitive cat. Well, at least some things don't change. Victoria was still good at making Max feel left out. 

"What have you been working on lately?" Max says to make conversation, suddenly wishing she had a drink just to have something to do with her hands. As if she can read her mind, Victoria motions to somebody over Max's shoulder and Prescott materializes next to them with two drinks in his hand. 

"Celebrity shoots, mainly," Victoria answers. "Mostly stuff for like, fucking teen magazines but there's still good money there."

Prescott hands one drink to Victoria and the other to Max and it catches her off guard.

"Oh, uh, thanks." 

Victoria gives him a shove. "Now, go. Don't be rude to your work friends. We're catching up here," she insists. "Can I smoke in here?"

He's already moving away but shoots a mild, "I don't give a shit," behind him as if the fact she'd even asked was absurd. 

Victoria pulls an actual cigarette case out of her clutch purse. The case is sterling silver with loopy initials engraved on the front. 

"Well, that's fucking classy," Corrine says out of nowhere, always fashionably late and making a rough entrance. "Mind if I bum one of those?"

Victoria hands her a cigarette and gives Corrine a once-over: black clothes and black shoes, multiple pierce holes in her ears, the smell of cinnamon gum and sandalwood. The general swirl of chaos that seems to embody her. 

"Victoria Chase," she introduces herself.

"She and I went to school together," Max supplies. "This is Corrine Lacey."

Corrine points her cigarette at Victoria in revelation. "I've seen you. You're in Max's yearbook."

She blows smoke up at the ceiling. "Is that so. My face wasn't scratched out of the page?"

Now Corrine looks at Max, utterly delighted at the prospect of drama. "Some _Mean Girls_ shit go down between you two?" 

"Hardly. Nothing so intense," Victoria says easily.

"What line of work you in?"

"Photography. You?"

"I work at the same dump as Max and Nathan. Customer relations. I'm amazing on the phone."

The smell of their cigarettes makes her want to cough and she's beginning to feel like a third wheel, which is so random she could laugh. 

"You don't like vodka tonic?" Victoria asks Max, nodding to the drink in her hand, untouched like a useless stage prop, swirling clear and forgotten in her glass. 

"I guess not."

"I'll take that right off your hands, babe," Corrine says, sliding Max's drink into her own grasp. 

"I'm going to find something else." Max leaves them to their discussion, which has quickly segued into high-end photography studio equipment. Specifically the kind they sell at work. Slipping into the kitchen, she finds wines and liquor and mixers on the island counter. She pours juice into a cup and adds a splash of rum. It's awkward standing by herself and she nervously crunches some ice with her teeth and almost goes back to stand with them again when Prescott makes his way over. 

"I didn't expect to see you here."

Max takes a long swallow of her drink, stalling. "I wasn't going to come."

He nods and there's something like reciprocation in his face, as if he wouldn't have either. Across the room Corrine and Victoria are still talking, their voices rising as the conversation escalated.

"—no shit? We sell the next model up at Precision, the twenty-two fifties. I swear," Corrine is saying with punctuating gestures, "I'm tryna get out of this customer assurance bullshit. Commission's where it's at, sis. If I can get into sales I'll be making bank."

"If those numbers you quoted me are legit I can guarantee you business. I'm sick of being jerked around by other distributors." A lazy tendril of smoke from the end of Victoria's cigarette trails up to the ceiling and her eyes are glassy and cool as she speaks.

Prescott is watching them too. Standing next to each other they look like sugar and spice. "Huh. Now that's something I wouldn't have expected."

"I know what you mean."

There's a loud crack of a cue against a pool ball and a chorus of cheers drift from the next room over. 

"For someone trying to impress our office co-workers you sure are wasting a golden social opportunity by standing here in the kitchen."

She shakes her head. "I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"The brownies, the early coffee, laughing at Hughes's idiotic jokes," he lists.

"That's called being nice."

"Because you want people to like you."

"Why would it be such a bad thing to want that?"

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, I was making a point that you were, in fact, hoping to gain favor from our co-workers. It's the only reason you're here. Even now, you're only entertaining this conversation to get a read on me. To feel out your chances of beating me for the position. Yes, you are," he says to her automatic protest. "It's obvious."

His smug arrogance is cutting.

"I'm not the only one trying to get a read on somebody. _You_ only talk to me because you want to make sure I'll keep quiet about your poor life decisions."

Now the corners of his mouth look stiff like he's trying to suppress a smile. "So we agree. We're equally using each other for our own selfish gain. Glad we're on the same page." He lifts his drink in a mock cheers and joins the commotion in the dining room. 

Before she can let off any steam Corrine pops up again and whistles, long and low. "Your girl in there is really something else."

"Yeah, she's not my girl. We're not friends."

"Funny, that's what you keep saying about Prescott and yet I see you two talking an awful lot lately."

"No, I mean it. This is the first I've seen Victoria in years. She hated me in high school, I'm surprised she's acting this way."

"Acting what way?"

Max shrugs. "Nice to me. And I expected her to brag a lot more."

"Oh, she brags all right," Corrine laughs. "She's learned the art of subtlety, believe me when I say she is _trouble_. She knows a thing or two. Shrewd businesswoman too, that one."

Max isn't sure she understands her full meaning of the word trouble. 

It's easier to mingle once she's had a little more to drink. Dexter teaches her to play pool but she only sinks one ball. Victoria sticks to her side like cling wrap and the only reason Max can guess is because she doesn't know anybody else. Once, on her way to the bathroom she passes Mr. Hughes and Lucia huddled in a poorly-lit corner, his fingers hovering over her bare shoulder like a whisper. When he looks up Max immediately pretends she wasn't looking but he straightens his back and she hears him clear his throat. She wonders about what Corrine told her, about Lucia giving him a BJ in the men's room. She'd passed over it as office gossip before, but now she isn't so sure. 

Max switches to water and leaves an hour later, walking to the train by herself on the cool dark streets. 

\--

At the next all-staff meeting Max fights to stay awake for the entire duration. Her eyelids must have stayed shut for too long because she feels a sudden poke in the arm, jarring her awake. She turns to look but Prescott is focused on Mr. Hughes. Or is at least pretending to focus.

When the meeting finally ends people heave themselves out of their chairs with a rising buzz of conversation. Lucia makes a not-so-subtle beeline over to Mr. Hughes and leans way in to say something to him in a sultry voice. His eyes dip to her cleavage for an instant as he struggles to maintain professional eye contact. 

Max doesn't realize right away that Prescott's leaned over in his chair and when he speaks his voice is low against her ear. "Foreplay. He's asking her to recite HR policy to him."

Laughter bubbles out of her and she looks away from Lucia guiltily, covering her mouth with one hand. She pretends not to see Corrine slide an inquisitive glance over at them. 

\--

At the party Victoria had asked for her number, but Max is still surprised when she receives a text from her a week later. They meet for lunch at a sidewalk cafe in a rich part of the city, and Max learns that Victoria lives in an expensive district—a neighborhood peppered with high-rises and hedge greenery that is strictly out of Max's price range. It's closer to the kind of place she'd assumed Prescott would be living. 

Victoria reminds her of a display in a tea shop window. She's wearing a lot of white, and all of her jewelry is silver and dangly. Bright gash of red lipstick. Floral-scented perfume. 

"Thanks for coming." She runs a slim honeydew-colored fingernail down the line of the menu as she peruses. "Do you ever talk with anyone else from school?"

"Kate sometimes. And Chloe."

"Didn't you date that guy from the science club during our last semester?"

"Yeah. But I don't really like to talk about it. Sorry."

She lets out an easy laugh. "I've got a full deck of those unspeakable cards, no worries there."

They talk about work until their lunch comes. Max's pasta dish is smothered in oil and cheese. Victoria's got some sort of grilled panini and a Long Island iced tea.

"I like your friend." She takes a large gulp of her drink and dabs at the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin. "The one from Nathan's party. She's wild."

"Funny, she said the same about you."

Victoria looks pleased and takes a bite of sandwich. "You live around here?"

"God, no. I'm on the bad side of the river."

By the third iced tea Max tries to remember whether or not Victoria even asked for refills. "Shit, I can't finish all this," she mutters and dumps half of it into Max's nearly empty water glass. "Help me out, would you? I'm going to see if there's a restroom in there." 

The cocktail tastes lemony and Max sips it and checks her phone. It's getting a little close to the end of her lunch hour. She texts Corrine. 

**Max:** _What do you think my chances of swinging a long lunch are?_  
 **Corrine** : _Dude the bossman isn't even here. left for a dentist appt like thirty mins ago_  
 **Corrine:** _nobody's got tabs on you_

Victoria comes back to the table and sniffs loudly. "Fuck. You ready to leave?"

"Yeah, sure."

Her tone grows mischievous. "Do you wanna see where I live?" 

"I don't know. I should probably—"

"It's really close by. Come on, it'll be a riot. You'll _hate_ it," she says with relish.

Max glances at Corrine's texts again and it's the spirited expression on Victoria's face that convinces her. 

"Okay. I can play hooky for a little bit."

"Excellent!" 

They pay and start walking around the corner. It's a relief that they don't need to go far, Max's work shoes aren't very comfortable. Victoria lives in a loft and the garnished elevator slides upwards for what seems like an eternity. The hallway is lined with paneling and ornate sconces and when Victoria unlocks her front door Max immediately crosses the hardwood floor to look out of the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall. 

"This view is _amazing_ ," she breathes.

"Yeah," she says flatly, unimpressed. "It's the only good thing about this place."

"Seriously?" Max backs away from the windows for a better look. It isn't huge, but it's immaculate and luxurious, with Parisian features; elegant molding, gold framed mirrors, faux-chandelier in the living room. 

"Well, that and its proximity to most of the good art galleries."

"Why would I hate this? It looks like a magazine in here."

Victoria crosses her arms. "Yeah, well. It's one thing to look at pictures, but have you ever tried to get comfortable in a magazine? It's not all it's cracked up to be."

Max gives her a sideways glance. Victoria had been bouncy on the way from lunch and now she'd fallen strangely melancholy. When Max checks her phone she notices.

"If you have to get back it's cool. You should come back sometime, though. Hang out."

"Sure," she says hesitantly. "Just text me."

"See you."

It's a cool day and Max picks up her pace on the sidewalk, feeling cheerful despite the unfamiliarity of walking through the wealthy neighborhood. She only makes it to the next block over when her phone buzzes persistently. Victoria's name comes up and she thinks, you have got to be kidding me.

"You've gotta come back!" Victoria hisses urgently when Max answers.

"What? Why?"

"Nathan's sister just showed up here and she's like, out of her _mind_ high. I don't know what the fuck she took but she can't even stand up straight and I need help getting her out of here."

"I'm already halfway to my stop. Just call him, it's _his_ sister."

There's a deep crackle over the phone, like the end of a cigarette being burned. "I tried him a hundred times already. She's so trashed the doormen wouldn't even let her upstairs. I got a call from the front desk to come down and collect her."

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" Max asks, bewildered. "Can't you let her sleep it off?"

"Look, I'll pay for the uber or whatever, but there's there's people coming to use my apartment for a shoot and she _can't_ be here. I just need help propping her up and getting her upstairs at Nathan's. He's only like fifteen minutes away. Please, please just help me with this. Max?"

"Okay, fine. I'm coming back. I'll text Corrine to go find Prescott." If they could track him down Max could avoid getting mixed up in this. What a weird fucking afternoon. When she backtracks and rounds the corner again, she sees Victoria and another girl perched on a bench out front. 

"Our ride'll be here soon, we're looking for a Toyota. This is Kristine," Victoria says from around her cigarette. She looks exasperated.

"Hey, I'm Max," she says. 

"I wouldn't bother." Victoria waves dismissively. 

Kristine's eyes are sluggish as she drags her gaze onto Max. She gives a toothy grin and slumps across Victoria's shoulder. "Does this bitch know where to get some Xanax?"

"No. God." Victoria's tone is laced with irritation.

"I thought we were going out," she protests angrily. 

"I have shit to do, Kristine, I told you."

Kristine starts to tip off of the bench and Max instinctively lurches forward to steady her. She is deeply tanned, with dark freckles on the tops of her shoulders. Already thin and wiry, the oversized tank top she's wearing makes her look emaciated. Her eyes are heavily penciled and she's colored her hair in a dark cherry red. The swirling line of a tattoo creeps down her leg from underneath her shorts. 

Victoria tries calling him again and gets nothing. "Anything from your end?"

"Corrine says he didn't come in today." Max didn't even know that Prescott had a sister. Kristine lets out a manic giggle and grabs a fistful of Max's work skirt just as a silver car pulls smoothly up to the curb and rolls the passenger window down. 

"Hey, are you Victoria?" the driver calls. 

"Yeah."

"I'm Tai. Jump in."

"Will you walk this time?" Victoria begins to heave Kristine to her feet. Kristine makes an exaggerated noise of distress and her legs buckle uselessly. "Damn it! Work with me here."

Max and Victoria prop her up like a marionette puppet and the driver gives them a strange look out the open window. "Is she okay?"

"Yes," Victoria practically snarls. 

"You promised," Kristine accuses. Victoria recoils from her breath and opens the door. "You said we could go to Paul's."

"Who's Paul?" Max asks.

"I don't know, some dude she won't shut up about." They wrestle her into the middle of the backseat and Victoria has to continually still her hands to keep her from messing with everything. 

"Can I smoke in here?" Victoria asks. 

"No," Tai says firmly.

"So last weekend Nathan asks me to entertain his sister for the night. Says she's been getting into some bad shit lately and is worried she's gonna do something stupid." Victoria continues waving her unlit cigarette around as she speaks to Max, oblivious to Tai keeping a shrewd eye on it from the rearview mirror. Kristine is apparently riveted by the feel of the seat covers and buttons against her fingers and doesn't seem to notice that they're talking about her. "So I'm like yeah sure, and we go check out some new gallery and go to a show afterward. What about that says, 'please show up at my place high in the middle of the afternoon and cause a huge scene in the lobby?' To be fair, Nathan gave me a disclaimer. But nowhere in that disclaimer did he include Do Not Show Her Where You Live."

The driver is shamelessly eavesdropping on this drama from behind the wheel, and Max wishes they could wait until they left the car to talk about it. She hates being overheard by strangers but Victoria doesn't appear to care.

"Nathan would kill me if I let anything happen to her," Victoria goes on.

"What do you mean? It's not your fault that she showed up at your house in this state."

"But it would be if I called the cops on her or left her in the street."

Victoria's phone buzzes at the same time that Kristine complains, "Let me out," and lunges across Max's lap for the door, despite the car still being in motion. They struggle and Victoria helps yank her back into her seat.

She answers her phone. "About time. Like two minutes. Yeah, you better. Fine."

"Was that Prescott?" Max asks.

"Yeah, he's on his way home, thank God."

Max looks at Kristine worriedly. "She looks dehydrated."

"Wouldn't doubt it. Hey, pull up here, this is good." Victoria leaps out onto the curb, coaxing Kristine out.

"Um, thanks," Max says to the driver. 

Kristine grows more belligerent once inside. They can't stop her before she presses all the buttons in the elevator on the way up.

"Sorry," Victoria says to the other people with them. The walls of the elevator are shiny and her necklace reflects sharply like a prism under the lights. Kristine bops around for a second, trashed, and lolls her head against Victoria's shoulder.

"Vicky, Vicky," she croons in her ear. "Don't say sorry to them. That old lady's not mad, her face only looks like that because of the injections."

The woman in question sniffs and the lines around her mouth stiffen.

Victoria untangles Kristine's arms from around her neck. "Quit it. I'm serious. Everyone can hear you, you know."

"Why should I give a fuck, I'm only callin' it like I see it. You take advantage of that spring coupon over at Pacific Beauty?" she turns back to the woman. "Lips and ass fifteen percent off. Dr. Fields might give you a better deal if you mention my mother's name." She snorts and dissolves into raucous laughter. 

Max is pretty sure they haven't reached the woman's floor yet but when the door slides open her heels click as she marches away. It's clear that Kristine is becoming slightly more lucid and they don't have to fight with her as much to get her to walk down the hall into Prescott's apartment. Victoria has a key and Max isn't sure what to make of that. Inside it is cool and quiet and the faint smell of pine reminds Max of Arcadia Bay. Kristine dives headfirst into his sofa, scattering pillows to the floor. 

"You sure you can't tell what she took?"

"She's obviously been drinking. Beyond that, it's hard to say. Demerol? If I didn't know how impossible it is to find I'd say E."

Kristine shoots upwards suddenly like a slingshot. Her eyes widen and a spew of vomit lands on the rug and one of the throw pillows. 

"Oh, fuck this. There is no way." Victoria's face twists. Kristine is doubled in two and looks like she might heave again and both girls lunge forward. "Bathroom!"

They haul her up and she needs no further prompting to stagger through a nearby door. It seems like a shitty time to bail, but Max doesn't want to be around when Prescott gets here. She doesn't like how her helping Victoria has inadvertently shifted into doing Prescott a favor. When Victoria emerges from the kitchen with a roll of paper towels Max is deciding how to tell her.

The front door opens and Max registers shock on Prescott's face when he sees her in his apartment. 

"Victoria needed my help getting her here," Max says, and she hates how defensive it comes out, like she's apologizing for doing something wrong.

"What's that smell?" he asks.

"Thank God." When Victoria spots him she shoves the roll of paper towels at his chest. "She puked on your blue rug and gray pillow. She's in the bathroom now, heaving, so you're probably going to need some rags."

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he says in a strained voice. He pulls her aside and begins speaking rapidly under his breath. 

"Why does that matter? Wow," Victoria's voice rises above his, "I was expecting more of a, 'thanks, Vic, for getting her here safely.'"

Max turns away and fills a glass with water in the kitchen. When she comes back out to the living room she hears a toilet flush behind the door and she knocks. 

"Come in," Kristine says in a scratchy voice. 

Her hair looks stringy and it hangs across her face like vines. She's sitting on the floor next to the toilet and she's propped an arm over the edge of the bathtub to lay her head down. 

"There's water here on the counter for you," Max says. 

Kristine closes her eyes and Max goes back to the front door where Prescott and Victoria are still bickering like siblings. They're blocking her way and it's obvious they're not winding down anytime soon. 

"I'm heading out now," she says loudly. They stop arguing. His face is unreadable. 

"See you. And thanks," Victoria says, moving out of the way. 

Max is practically tripping to get herself out of there and she wonders what in the hell she's gotten herself into. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be up saturday 11th april


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the moodboard i made for victoria chase: https://i.imgur.com/hLi6MKQ.png
> 
> aaaand here's the playlist for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0c7NhwbQl9ZmTZsWMFXca1yIiUt25AxK
> 
> happy easter. stay safe, everybody

* * *

The first of the month rolls around and Max realizes her bank account is about ninety bucks short of what she needs to pay rent. She tries not to panic and scrolls through her recent transactions, vowing to quit ordering Chinese and stopping to get coffee on the way home from work. Maybe she should start stealing toilet paper from the office bathrooms like Corrine. 

She texts her mom and asks if they can lend her a hundred. 

_Yes, is everything okay?_ her mom texts back. 

_Just fine, I spent a little extra this month for a friend's birthday gift and forgot to keep track._

The weekend drags on forever, listless. She drapes herself across the furniture around her apartment lethargically, bored and depressed. At what point had she descended into this stagnant pool? This place where she's quit reading books or talking to friends and lies to her mom so she won't feel bad for her?

She spends an hour on her old laptop looking for something to do. When she finds an online news journal accepting freelance photos of coffee shops downtown Max has her shoes on before she's even finished reading. It's a relief to get outside. The sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds today so she should be able to get some high contrast shots. She already knows exactly which coffee shops she wants to photograph.

On the light rail she watches the people around her and wonders what kind of person she looks like to strangers. Her camera bag is slung across her chest and contains the digital camera her parents had gotten for her birthday during her third year of college. Still partial to polaroids if she was taking pictures for fun, it helped to have something digital when she needed to submit for freelance jobs or enter contests.

It's late afternoon by the time she finishes, and for the first time in a while she actually feels giddy to head home and sort through the photos she's taken. She'd send in her best ones that very night.  
  
\--

Max is floored when Victoria Chase texts her _again_. She asks if she wants to meet up with her at a bar in the Pearl District after work. After the incident with Kristine Prescott Max is looking to keep her distance from Victoria and can't fathom why she wants to be friends with her suddenly. She gave her so much shit in high school, making it perfectly clear she didn't like anything about Max. There aren't many things about Victoria that Max likes, either. She could be kind of funny sometimes, Max thinks. And she can admit she's a good photographer. But that isn't necessarily enough to start a friendship over.

 _Sorry_ , she texts back. _Have plans tonight._

Max can't afford drinks in the Pearl District, anyway. 

\--

The dive bar that Corrine and Dexter take her out to three days later is lit up with colored lights, blue, red, and pink that streak across their faces and illuminate their clothes in neon. The floors are sticky and the place is packed elbow to elbow on account of the two dollar shot special they're running during happy hour that night. The speakers are blaring and Max can feel the bass in her chest. 

Dexter gets jostled from all sides and he begins to look overwhelmed. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

Corrine has a coveted stool at the bar and she lifts a beer up over her head to hand to him. "Have a few more drinks and maybe you'll calm down." Out of the three of them, Dexter is the only one that manages to look like he's just come from work, even though he hasn't. Same rumpled collared shirt, same hairstyle, same wire-rimmed glasses. Everything but the tie, really. 

The speakers pop a little as the first band of the night takes their place on the stage opposite to the bar. A burst of feedback and they launch into their song with a _one-two-three-four_ , something loud and punk that gets the entire crowd jumping. 

When Corrine asks Max why she isn't drinking she says something to the effect that she's out of money so Corrine grabs hold of her hand and pulls her over to the bathrooms. 

"I've got you covered," she says. The walls are painted black and covered in stickers, the band muffled through the door. Corrine reaches into her hoodie and hands over her flask. "I mean, nine bucks a beer? This place would be worthless if not for their happy hour."

It's sour and Max can taste the cheap metallic of the flask and she scrunches up her face, lips burning, but it takes effect almost immediately. 

Two girls with big X's on the back of their hands in marker push through the door, watching as Corrine tips back the flask—not that she seems to care much that they can see her. She smacks her lips. "That hits the spot. And away we go."

Back in the crowd Max sees Victoria Chase approaching them and her fingers fly out, gripping Corrine's arm. " _What_ is she doing here?" she says over the music. 

She tugs her arm out from Max's grasp. "I invited her."

"Why?"

"We were all getting along at Prescott's thing. She said she wanted to hang out again."

"And you picked here of all places. This isn't exactly her scene."

Corrine bursts out laughing. "Her 'scene'? What are you, like fifteen years old?"

"I meant this isn't the kind of place she likes. She would never set foot here."

"Her foot's already in here, isn't it?" Corrine rams her shoulder into Max's. "What, you think she can't slum it here with us for one night? Come on, I think she can take it." 

"Oh, holy shit," Max breathes when she sees Prescott with Victoria.

"Now what? She asked if Nathan could come along. What is with you?"

The two of them look comically out of place, like celebrities that have condescended to come down from their ivory tower to socialize with the masses, overdressed and surrounded by an air of something that the rest of them lack. 

By now they had picked their way through the sea of people. Dexter reaches out to shake their hands. They've already gotten drinks. Corrine is wearing the leggings with the holes in them again, and absentmindedly tugs at her shorts to cover them. 

Max has been avoiding Prescott ever since he'd found her in his apartment with Kristine. He seemed to have the same idea because he'd quit coming in early, the elevator always empty first thing and the coffee machine cold. Now he's acting like nothing happened and is making polite conversation about the stupid job application, of all things.

"I dunno, it's coming along. Still have another two weeks to turn it in," she answers, fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt. It's excruciating and she could wring Corrine's neck for this. 

The minutes slide into happy hour and they descend on the bar, ordering a round of shots along with the herd of other people clamoring forward. It doesn't go down smoothly at all but Max is grateful for the distraction and tries to pay better attention to the band. 

"Are you alright?" Victoria shouts into her ear.

"Yes. Why?"

"You seem uncomfortable."

She glances up and sees Prescott saying something to Dexter that makes him laugh. "I'm just surprised to see him here." She nods in his direction. "I thought he was still pissed."

Her eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. "Pissed about what?"

"About dropping his sister off."

"He wasn't mad about dropping her off, he was mad because I got you involved. That you were there to witness Kristine's whole dysfunctional sibling act play out."

"I would never tell people about that." Though it made sense that he would think that. History held a strike against her in that arena.

"You're rather slow to catch on," Victoria says. She twirls a ring on her right hand. "He's not worried you're going to tell people, he's embarrassed that you had to see it."

"Like he gives a shit about that."

She gives a delicate laugh and sips her beer. "Oh, he does. Trust me."

Max's head spins a little from the vodka. "What are you talking about?"

"He cares what you think. He's got a major thing about image. All the Prescotts do, really. And think about it, you've only seen him at his worst. Bothers the shit out of him from what I can tell."

"You're way off base."

\--

They're all trashed, weaving around on the sidewalk. All except Prescott, who quit after two drinks and was assuming the responsibility of driving them all to Victoria's for a nightcap. Max is ready to beg off but Corrine looks ready to murder her.

"I can't go without you, you're the one who introduced us," she hisses. "We _need_ you."

"Let us live, Max," Dexter urges, leaning over to rest his head on her shoulder. 

She relents in the end and the five of them head down the street to the parking garage. Everything's lit up and all the colors blur together in Max's vision, her thoughts swimming contentedly in a haze. They're falling over each other, bumping like pinballs, grabbing arms and jackets and shoulders to stay upright. Nathan watches them with the ghost of amusement on his face. 

His car is black and a little outdated, a dent in the bumper and an actual radio antenna that's been snapped off.

"Didn't you drive something different in school?" she asks him.

"Had to trade it in."

In the car she's crammed between Corrine and Dexter in the backseat. Dexter's window is rolled down and he's calling out things to passersby and people sitting outside on restaurant patios, mostly consisting of singing off-key guitar riffs. When he gets flipped off he screams behind him, "Fucking pussies!"

Corrine can't stop laughing. "Look, you drunk asshole, sit down! Before your face gets taken off by a street sign."

Max's stomach churns and she suggests a drive-through, which is met with a chorus of approval. She's dying of hunger and the smell of fried food emanates from the brown paper bags all the way up to Victoria's apartment. 

Victoria unlocks the door and flicks on the lights, throwing her coat carelessly over an ottoman. Dexter and Corrine give twin echoes of awe at the sheer luxury of Victoria's little gold and white apartment. 

Max tears into the bag of food and inhales half a box of fries while they're gushing about the view from the window. Music starts to play and she sees Nathan fiddling at the massive stereo system. His sleeves are rolled up and he's undone the first few buttons of his shirt and Dexter has copied him some time ago. 

Corrine flings off her hoodie and notices Max. "Bitch, hand over some of those fries."

"Okay, I've got wine, gin, and...I don't know, some fucking hipster microbrew somebody left here." Victoria stands barefoot in the doorway of the kitchen squinting at the label on the bottle. 

\--

"No!"

"I shit you not," Max insists, her drink sloshing over the rim a little. "Blind drunk, hiccuping all throughout our commencement speech. She can vouch for me!" She motions to Victoria.

"What the fuck kind of private school was this?" Corrine asks.

"The kind in a small town. Our principal being an alcoholic was really the least of it," Victoria says. 

They're all splayed out on the cream-colored carpet, a half-played game of strip poker forgotten in front of them. Various articles of clothing strewn around them; minor things like socks and overshirts. They had grown distracted by music and conversation and Max kept forgetting the rules, anyway. 

"It seems I really missed out on the small town vibe growing up in cities all my life," Dexter says in his undershirt, his work shirt balled up beneath him on the floor. 

"No way," says Victoria. "Trust me. It was so boring it was the type of place where people would start sniffing glue just to have a bit of entertainment."

"Something you want to tell us, Vic?" Nathan deadpans and they all shake with laughter. By this point Max's ribs ache. 

They start a game of Never Have I Ever and Nathan clumsily pours everybody refills. 

"Ah!" Victoria cries as he sloshes wine into her glass before she can yank it away. "I had gin in there, you heathen!"

"I'll start, I'll start," Corrine says. Her eyeliner is smudged into two dark pools beneath her eyes. "Never have I ever had sex in a public restroom." Max doesn't miss the surreptitious look Corrine gives her as she says this, and she thinks back to their conversation at Max's apartment. Ha ha, very funny.

Dexter drinks and a cacophony of jeers and catcalls follow.

\--

"So do you have your strategy all figured out?" Nathan asks her from the doorway. 

Max is in Victoria's kitchen getting a drink of water and doesn't know how long he's been standing there. 

"Your plan for beating me in the interviews," he specifies when she doesn't answer. "You've gotta have something pretty solid by now."

"Oh, yeah. You won't even know what hit you."

"I hope you're not planning to hit on Mr. Hughes," he stifles a laugh. "Cause I think Lucia's already claimed that tactic."

She smiles into her water glass. "Damn. That was my fallback."

Nathan's still standing in the doorway so she maneuvers around him and finds the living room empty. Playing cards littering the floor where they had been sitting. 

She follows voices down the hall and pushes open the bedroom door where they've thrown their coats and purses. 

Dexter straightens from the surface of the dresser as he sniffs loudly, gripping a piece of plastic straw in one hand and a business card in the other. Powder trickled across the lacquered wood. Corrine's bright red nose, rubbing it with the back of her hand. Victoria holding the baggie.

It was the look on their faces that did it. The expression like they'd been caught by their mother and were expecting a lecture in the next breath. The fact that they purposely tried to keep it a secret from her, as if they already knew what her reaction would be.

Really, it was only drugs. There was no reason for her to be so naive and shocked. Maybe if they'd just told her about it beforehand she wouldn't have been so blindsided and standing there gaping like a fish.

"Oh. Um, I was just getting my bag."

Max is mortified suddenly as she realizes she's reacting exactly like they obviously thought she would have and she turns on her heel to leave. In the hallway she nearly knocks over a decorative pedestal and stumbles into Nathan.

"What's going—"

She steadies herself, pushing off him and heading for the front door where she carefully laces up her shoes and tries to pretend she's not half as drunk as she is. They all are, though.

"Where are you going?" 

"Nowhere. I mean, uh, home."

"Now?"

"Yeah. Bye."

The door clicks shut behind her and the light sconces in the hallway are glaring and she squints as she crosses the plush carpet to the elevators. She punches the down arrow five times and realizes just how far gone she is now that she stands alone in the deathly quiet. 

The elevator stops once on its way down to the lobby—an exquisitely dressed couple gets on and it feels like they're staring at Max the entire way down, judging her in her cutoff shorts like she doesn't belong. She feels her face heat up.

Finally, the doors slide open to the ground floor and she finds Nathan, red-faced and trying to hide his irregular breathing, like he'd just run down the stairs. Which she supposes he must have. One side of his coat collar is sticking up, askew.

"It's just so late," he says in explanation. "I thought we were all crashing here."

"Oh, well, I can still catch the last train," Max says, checking her phone. "I'd rather go home to my own bed."

"At least let me drive you."

She looks at him funny. "You can't drive."

"Right." He scrunches his face like he's said something stupid. "I meant—walk you to the stop."

"Oh, no, that's fine. I got it." She's using her fake small talk voice, the one she uses at work, and it makes things awkward. 

"It's late," he says again.

"Really, I'm fine," she answers too quickly.

When she goes outside she breathes a deep sigh into the open night air. She's dismayed to find that he follows her right out. Is this chivalry or obligation?

"I take the train all the time. It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, no, I need to go to the corner shop. I'm outta cigarettes," he says, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

She narrows her eyes. "No, you're not. I saw you open a new pack outside the bar."

"I lost it."

"Really." 

"I know. Can you believe it?" He shrugs like it's some great hardship.

"No. I honestly can't." She begins to walk and he stretches his legs to keep up, hands still jammed in his pockets. They walk half a block in silence.

"Look, about that—" he stops. Thinks better of it. Reaches a hand to the back of his neck. 

A car creeps by and they can hear the bass exploding through the windows. 

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"What do you mean?" Alarm is written on his face.

"You know what I mean. Those guys at the picnic."

It's something she promised herself she wasn't going to ask him about but he's the one that's forced them into this uncomfortable end-of-the-night ritual in some misguided attempt at being a gentleman. Like she needs escorted. She's not sure at what point she decided she wants to see him squirm, but now, half-drunk and walking underneath the streetlights seems like the time to finally indulge her curiosity. 

"It looked worse than it is," he deflects.

"Kind of looked like you're involved in something illegal."

"Morally questionable, maybe. But I wouldn't go so far as to say illegal."

They pass a server stacking patio chairs and hosing down the sidewalk and step off the curb to avoid getting wet.

"Why?"

"I need the money."

This provides her a neat segue into her next question. "Your family is loaded last I checked. Couldn't you have gotten a nice cushy job at your dad's office?"

"Could've."

"But didn't."

"Right."

She gives him a sideways glance, his face illuminated by the city lights. He's fixed his collar and his eyes skitter around and she wonders if he's regretting his insistence on walking her to the stop. Good.

"He wanted me to," he says. "Work at his company, I mean. They didn't give a shit what else I did—drinking, dodging curfew, skipping class, that was all fine. Normal teenage antics. It was obvious they didn't understand my interest in photography, but they still indulged that too. But continuing on the Prescott legacy? That was written in stone."

He stops talking and she thinks maybe he's run out of gas, or that he's filled his quota for over-sharing with the nosy woman at work. 

"After all that bullshit went down senior year and I got out of the hospital I told my dad I didn't want to work there, that I wanted to pursue photography. He freaked, went out of his fucking mind and we fought over it all summer. In the end he cut me off. Took my name off the accounts."

"That's harsh."

He shrugs like it's whatever but she can see tension in his shoulders. 

She looks up suddenly. "You missed your corner shop. Like a block ago."

"Did I?" he says with fake concern. "Guess I'll have to hit the next one."

She rolls her eyes and asks him how he ended up in Portland, but he shakes his head. "It's your turn now."

"I've got nothing," she tells him, and means it. She has nothing even slightly remarkable to share about her life, just one string of banal nothings that bleed into each other until they're indistinguishable. No dramatic sob story or revelations, no delving into the truly meaningful or noteworthy. 

"Oh, fuck that. Everybody's got _something_. You may be able to fly with that aloof mysterious thing at work, but I'm not biting."

There was that word again. _Mysterious_. It's a nice euphemism for boring. What is it he wants to hear about? Her average grades in high school and her average grades in college? About her shitty studio apartment with the dead plants? About the fact that she still pins her polaroids on the wall next to her bed like she's a teenager? How her photography is going nowhere and she can't sleep most nights and worries that she's just wasting away her twenties when she should be doing something extraordinary? 

"Cut that shit out," he says, ripping her out of her pity party.

"What?"

"You look like your head's gonna spin right off your shoulders."

"Thanks."

"You overthink everything. It looks exhausting."

" _You're_ exhausting. I just don't have anything to say."

Now it's his turn to roll his eyes. "Don't give me that. You've got interests and passions. Goals. Friends. Why do you act like that's not enough? Not everything needs to be a heart-stopping theatrical number for it to matter."

She still doesn't know what to say and is glad to see the light rail station looming up ahead. 

He decides to breach the earlier subject. "Sorry about back there. At Vic's."

"Nothing to apologize for." He's making it worse and her cheeks burn with embarrassment and she wishes he would just drop it.

"They should have been more discreet. I told Vic to keep that shit under wraps."

Because of course poor Max is too innocent to be able to handle something like that. "And why should she have to keep it under wraps? It's her house."

He looks surprised at her tone. "Why are you pissed?"

"I'm not."

He stares at her for a beat like he's trying to figure it out himself. "You know, it's not an insult that they didn't think you'd be into coke."

Direct hit. Too smart for his own good. 

"Great," she says harshly. Sarcastic. Defensive. "Any more sage advice for me?"

"Yeah. Try not to stumble into any ditches the rest of the way home." His attitude now mirrors hers.

"Thanks," she snaps.

"Anyfuckingtime."

She's so irritated when she walks away from him that she has to force herself to release her hunched shoulders. She swipes her card, boards the train, seething that he called her out _and_ got the last word. 

When he thinks she can't see him anymore, Max watches through the window as he takes out a cigarette and sparks it. Face lit up in pale orange flame. 

That does it. She unlocks her phone and types a new text that says, _you shit, no cigs my ass!!_ and hits send. 

He'd only given her his number so that she could text him about any more weird guys outside their work and she hadn't planned on actually _using_ it. In fact, she wasn't even going to program it in. But she had. The very same day, in fact. And she has absolutely no idea why. 

He texts back. _what can i say?_ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

\--

The next day is Sunday and she gets a text from Corrine, asking if she can come over. Max gets the feeling that she wants to talk about what happened at Victoria's. She stuffs an armful of dirty clothes into the little closet by the front door and brings her empty cups and plates to the sink. Before too long there's a knock at the door.

"Hey. I brought a peace offering." Corrine holds up a bag of crullers from the coffee shop.

"The peace was never compromised. Really. But I'll still take the donuts."

Corrine smirks and tosses the bag onto the kitchen counter, shrugging off her black coat as Max shuts the door behind her. "Look, I know last night was weird, but I think we should get everything out in the open. You looked like you were tripping pretty bad."

"I wasn't. Surprised, yes, but that's all. You don't owe me an explanation, I just wasn't expecting it. I didn't know you were into that."

"Not really. Only occasionally, if someone else has it. You sure we're cool."

"Yeah." Max thinks coke is a stupid thing to do, but it was Corrine's choice to make. 

Corrine flings herself onto Max's couch. "Great, because I'm much more interested in Nathan running after you."

Max rolls her eyes. "He walked me to the stop. It was late."

"Uh-huh. Late." She chews the red polish on her thumbnail. "What did you talk about?"

"It wasn't exactly scintillating conversation," Max assures her, plucking a sticky cruller out of the bag. "Some stuff from the past. His family a little bit."

Corrine whistles. "Sounds like you guys are better friends than you let on."

"Friends? Trust me, you weren't there. We parted ways hostile at best. We're not friends."

"Vic keeps talking like you are." She raises a black eyebrow.

"Oh, so it's Vic now, is it. What does she know?"

"She knows Nathan." Corrine shrugs. "She said they were best friends in high school—before she knew about all that crazy shit about him and he went through the trial and the hospital and all that."

"Yeah. They ran the most popular club in school and they were inseparable. Like rich over-styled clones of each other, putting down people around them just for a laugh."

"Sounds like high school. Kids are shitty. The great thing about that, though, is that people grow up."

"If they're lucky."

"Right." Corrine picks up Max's tv remote. "If they're lucky."

\--

Max sits in the break room during lunch. The faucet at the sink drips and she stabs her fork into her instant noodles. She scrolls her phone and ends up checking the online journal she'd sent in photos to. They hadn't gotten back to her and she realizes with a sinking heart that they've already published the article. The photos they've chosen are tasteful, with creative angles and perfect framing and she scans the little caption in italics under the images.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

_Photos taken by Nathan Prescott._

She realizes she's just spoken aloud and there's about five people now staring at her in confusion. Embarrassed, she dips her fork back into her noodles.

After she finishes eating Max follows Corrine down to the fountain. 

"Something on your mind?" she asks Max.

Max sits on the fountain and kicks her leg. "I lost another potential freelance gig. It's a good thing I'm not trying to pay the bills with my photography because evidently I suck at it."

Corrine bumps her shoulder into Max. "You don't suck at it, I saw those photos next to your bed. You're just not used to all the competition. Do you know how many people move here to try to make it as an artist? You'll find your stride."

She catches a glimpse of dyed, apple-red hair and thin shoulders, a young woman striding towards their building. It looks like Kristine Prescott. She sees Max staring and does a double-take, changing direction and heading over to the fountain.

"I thought that was you. From the other day," Kristine says. 

It had been over a week and a half since that incident, and Max is surprised that Kristine even recognizes her, given the condition she'd been in. 

"What'd you say your name was again?"

"Max." She sticks her hand out and Kristine laughs.

"A little formal considering how we met. So you're friends with Nathan, huh? He and I are supposed to go to lunch today."

"Um, sort of." It seems rude to admit that she isn't a fan of her brother. "We work together."

"And me too," Corrine cuts in, exhaling smoke. "Corrine."

"I'm Kris, Nathan's older sister."

"Oh, I didn't know he had a sister."

"Most people don't. Can I bum one of those?"

Corrine shakes an extra cigarette out of her crumpled pack. "Well, I'm on lunch. I'll see you inside," she says to Max and jams her cigarette butt into the ashtray next to the fountain.

Kristine redirects her attention to Max once Corrine leaves. "You went to that art school too, right? In Arcadia Bay."

"Yeah, Blackwell. It's a really great school. I wasn't expecting all the drama our senior year, but I still learned a lot."

"You're a photographer?"

"Aspiring. I haven't made much money from it yet."

Kristine nods and plops next to her. "I never got into art myself. Helping people was more my passion. Spent a couple years doing the backpacking thing in South America, and eventually dabbled in Peace Corps and flying out to more remote locations with work teams."

"That's so cool, I wish I could travel like that. Are you still doing that?"

Slouched over with her dangling cigarette, a soft look passes over her face and disappears as quickly as it had come. "Not so much. I fell in with the wrong crowd on the off-time. Blew all my cash, returned home in disgrace." She waves her hand like it's nothing, reminding Max of Nathan a bit when he brushes off serious matters with fake nonchalance. 

"What are you doing here?" A voice from behind them says. "We were supposed to meet at the restaurant."

"I wanted to see where you work. And look how professional! With the shirt and the tie and the pressed pants. Or sorry, _slacks_."

Nathan doesn't look amused.

Max looks between the two of them. She can't find any physical similarities with them at all, save their eye color. If she didn't know them and had seen them walking down the street together she could have never guessed they were related. If Nathan is all sharp angles, Kristine is like a hazy scribble.

"Here it is, you've seen it. Let's go," he says.

"Why don't you have a smoke with us? I'm just getting to know your friend."

"Max doesn't smoke," he says petulantly. 

Kristine rolls her eyes and stubs out the butt with dirty-looking fingernails. "Nice to meet you." 

Nathan has already started to walk away and she jogs to catch up with him.

\--

Max doesn't sleep at all that night. Squares of her polaroids on the wall blur in her tired vision. 

All she can think about is Prescott getting those freelance photos over her. Deep down she knows that his entry was better than hers, but that doesn't make her feel any better. She's been avoiding him again at work; just the sight of him reminded her all over again. 

The light rail rumbles outside of her window and she flops over to her other side. Sleep is a distant fantasy. She reaches for her phone and mindlessly scrolls through her message threads, wondering who might be awake.

Stopping when she sees Chloe Price's name, she's tugged into a reminiscence of Arcadia Bay. The orange skies and the pine trees, back when she didn't have to worry about the struggle of rent and insurance and keeping up with a monotonous work routine. She's been meaning to talk to Chloe since she moved to Portland but has never gotten around to it. 

Max has a bad track record of keeping in touch with her old friend. When she'd left Arcadia Bay the first time it had been such a tragic time in Chloe's life with her dad dying that Max hadn't known what to say and they drifted apart. She'd had another chance when she started attending Blackwell, but it wasn't until Chloe ended up in the hospital with the gunshot wound that Max visited her. She was heavily medicated after the surgery and had acted pretty loopy the whole time Max was there. They only hung out a few times after that.

Would Chloe even want to talk to her? They'd both changed so much. One thing she remembers about Chloe is that she'd been a perpetual night owl. If anyone is going to still be awake at midnight, it'll be her.

She risks a lame text message. _hey, what's up?_

Thirteen minutes later she gets a response.

 **Chloe:** _Maximus Rhyme, hows it hanging? didnt think I'd ever hear from u again._

She smiles at the phone. 

**Max:** _Doing the daily grind in the city, where are you living?_  
 **Chloe:** _lucky, im still locked down in our old shithole_  
 **Max:** _i've been thinking about making a trip back there_  
 **Chloe:** _do iiiit! what are u doing this weekend? my friend's playing a gig they suck ass but i'm tryna get laid sooo_

They make plans for Saturday. She hadn't initially been thinking of a trip back home but once she mentions it to Chloe she's set on it. She _needs_ to get out of Portland for a while. Refresh her mind. Chloe's positive reception amps her up even further. Not able to afford a bus ticket, she'll need to find a ride. She has a pretty good idea where to start.

\--

The next morning Max leans over Dexter's cubicle wall. 

"You've got a car, right?"

He stops typing. "Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"Technically, it's my roommate's. But I borrow it when the occasion calls for it."

"How does a day trip this weekend sound?"

"Intriguing!"

"I'm trying to visit an old friend in Arcadia Bay this Saturday."

"As in your hometown. As in the place with the dead girl and the drunk principal? I've been dying to see it ever since you guys talked about it. What's there to do?"

"Watch a shitty local band, eat diner food. Hike the woods to the lighthouse."

"I'm in, how far is it?"

"Hour twenty. Less if you speed." 

Corrine's head pops up on the other side of the wall, never able to be left out of a conversation. "Where are we going?"

"Max's scandalous hometown," he says with relish. 

"Oh, fuck yes. I crave those creepy small town vibes."

"It's not going to be like an episode of _Twin Peaks_ or anything," Max warns. "It's pretty low-key."

Corrine raises an eyebrow with a wicked grin. "Not when the three of us roll in."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm starting to catch up to myself (i only have up to chapter 5 written at this point) so i need to slow down the updates to give myself more of a buffer. i'm shooting for saturday 25th april


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've made absolutely zero progress on this, so i'm just going to post this chapter i already had written.  
> my week isn't going well. i'm supposed to be packing getting ready to move but our AC went out two days ago and it's 90 literal degrees in this house (we're supposed to get triple digits this week! :):):):) ) even sitting next to this computer is roasting me. rant over.
> 
> i have no projected date for the next chapter to be up unfortunately. i'm outlining so hopefully i'll get some more done this weekend. 
> 
> max: i don't like nathan at all, i hate him!  
> also max: *stares at him incessantly* *catalogues his outfits and body language* *wonders what he's thinking all the time*

* * *

It was time for the applications to be turned in. After all the time Max has spent agonizing over her resume and cover letter she's glad to be rid of the thing. Management had started to bring in the outside interviewees that same week. 

"Don't worry," Corrine says to her in the break room during lunch. "I've been intercepting them in the lobby and telling them we have a bedbug infestation."

Dexter barks laughter. "All of them?"

"I've been changing it up. Asbestos, radiation, sexual harassment lawsuits. I even got one of them to turn around and leave!" Corrine dumps another sugar packet into her tea.

"HR is gonna get your ass," goads Dexter.

"It's so unfair that they're even considering an outside hire," Max complains. She takes a bite of the rice bowl Corrine is splitting with her and passes it back. "What a slap in the face to those of us who have already put in the hours."

"I wouldn't worry, Lucia told me that they're only interviewing outsiders to humor corporate. They want one of you temps so they don't have to waste extra time training."

"And where is Lucia getting her information?" Corrine asks.

"From Hughes himself."

"Well, if anyone is going to have insider information from Mr. Hughes it'd be Lucia..." Max says with a sniff.

"Listen to her get all catty!" says Dexter. "Competition really brings out the worst in you. I love it."

"So for this weekend," Corrine begins, "we need beer. And snacks. And extra cigs. And probably a change of clothes. We don't want to hike in the same shit we're wearing to the gig, right?"

"Don't forget about an aux cord," Dexter says, sneezing into his elbow. "Tony doesn't keep one in his car."

"We're driving back the same night, yeah?"

"Yeah."

She turns to Max. "I can't wait to meet Chloe. She sounds kickass."

"You guys will get along for sure," Max replies.

"Of course we will."

Dexter snorts. "Cause you're such a people person."

"I am a fucking delight! I get along great with everyone, dickwad."

"Oh, shut up, I can name four instances right off the top of my head to dispute that."

They continue arguing and Max works out her budget in her head. Fifteen to pitch in for gas. Five for the cover charge. Six for a beer at the bar unless she can convince Corrine to pre-game with her in the car before they go in. If she packs her own sandwiches she can get away with just ordering fries or something at Two Whales. Max has been scrimping every penny for weeks, even resorting to texting her mom for recipes for simple stuff she made growing up like tacos or chicken salad. No more eating out for her. Mainly she's been living off pasta, beans, peanut butter bread, and apples. One could only eat so many packets of ramen before feeling like a sluggish block of sodium.

\--

At the end of the day Max is on her way out when Margie reaches out to pat her on the arm.

"I'm rooting for you, honey."

Max smiles. She'd heard Margie say the same thing to Lucia so she isn't putting much stock into the sentiment. 

She heads out into the hallway and punches the button for the elevator. To her dismay, Prescott is already standing there, scrolling on his phone. She steps in, eyes facing the elevator buttons. 

"Glad that's over, huh?" he says to her back.

"What is?"

"Application deadline."

She shrugs. "We still have the interviews."

"Yeah. But they already know us, so those are just a formality. Hard part's over."

"Guess you'll have plenty of time to work on your photography then." Her tone is icy and he notices.

"Sure..." he says slowly. 

He lets the conversation drop.

\--

"Bad news," Dexter says to her on Friday. "Trip's off."

Max splashes coffee down the side of her mug as she pours. "What? No way."

"Can't do it. I'm sick. Our shenanigans will have to wait."

Chloe will never let her hear the end of this. "Come on. You're well enough to come to work."

"I'm out of sick days."

He _does_ look pretty terrible once she takes a closer look. Nose red and chapped, puffy eyes from lack of sleep, clammy forehead under the fluorescents. "Wow, you do look like shit."

"I assure you I feel like it, too." He rips open a packet of powdered vitamin C and zinc and dumps it into his water bottle. 

Corrine breezes in with her empty teacup. "Dexter tell you the bad news?"

"Yeah, it sucks."

"Are you finished with that?" Arthur from accounting motions at the coffee pot she's still holding absentmindedly.

"Oh. Sorry." 

Dexter sneezes into his elbow and several people waiting around for their coffee move away from him warily. "You know who you _could_ ask." 

"Who?"

Dexter nods his chin to the other side of the break room. Prescott is standing with a clump of people from suite F in sharp gray pants and a blue shirt. 

"No. That's not a good idea."

"I'll bet he'd drive you, no problem," Corrine chimes in. "It'll be good for you to get outta town and get your mind off this promotion. You should go."

"Some other time. Chloe will be pissed probably but she'll understand."

"You're being ridiculous, just ask him."

"No."

"Ask him what? Why do you keep looking over at me?" Nathan asks. Shit. She hadn't noticed him approaching.

"Max needs a ride to Arcadia Bay tomorrow but she's too shy to ask," Corrine supplies. 

"That's not it, okay? I don't need a ride," Max says to him. 

" _Terrible_ liar," says Dexter from his seat at the table.

"Look, are you doing anything tomorrow?" Corrine asks, ignoring Max.

She hates it when they act like she's invisible. Livid, she directs her heated glare at Corrine for overstepping her bounds.

But it's Nathan who is looking at her. "I'm not busy. It's a pretty quick drive, too. Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

She heaves a frustrated sigh. "I had plans to visit Chloe Price." _And you're not invited_. The emphasis she puts on her name is pointed. 

"I can take the hint. There's other stuff for me to do in Arcadia. But if you'd rather cancel your plans it makes no difference to me."

Once again, he doesn't react the way she expects him to. She expected him to at least have some reaction to her mentioning Chloe. Is he even sorry for what he did?

"She doesn't," Corrine says. "Want to cancel her plans, I mean."

He keeps his gaze fixed on Max. "Just let me know by the end of the day."

\--

"How could you do that?" Max demands on Corrine's smoke break. 

Eliot from HR had taken one look at Dexter and sent him straight home, refusing to listen to his complaints about being out of sick days. Max had sulked and agonized in front of her computer all day waiting for their afternoon break.

"What, help you get a ride so you didn't have to blow off your friend?"

"I didn't need help. Not like that. I can't just show up at Chloe's with Nathan Prescott, I told you what happened between them."

"He said he'd find something else to do. They never have to see each other."

"That doesn't solve the problem of me having to spend an hour and a half each way with him."

"So what? God, what is it with you? The way you carry on about him you'd think he was the devil incarnate."

"He _shot_ someone."

"Yeah, like five years ago. Seems pretty stable to me now. We've all done shit we regret when we were teenagers. You've been alone with him since then, do you honestly feel like your life's in danger?"

"Well, no, but he's not the kind of person I want to hang out with."

"Look, if you need to call it off then whatever," Corrine says, tired with the conversation. "I just thought it'd be good for you to take a break from the city and see your old friend."

\--

 **Max:** _I can't believe you're not going to come_  
 **Corrine:** _I would but i have to help dex while he's sick_  
 **Max:** _...He's a grown man_  
 **Corrine:** _not when hes sick. he almost cooked his brain last time because he refused to go urgent care when his temp was like 104_

"You're getting reception out here?"

Startled, Max looks up from her phone, the road passing in a blur outside the car windows.

"No. Old messages."

"Oh."

The whole forty-five minutes she's been in the car with Nathan has consisted mostly of awkward silence. Riding along with him was a last resort. When she'd texted Chloe on Friday and said she might not be able to make it, she hadn't responded well. Or rather, she acted like she'd expected it, which was worse. _What a surprise, max bailing on me!! guess ill wait another 2 years to hear back from you._

She knows Chloe has a truck, but when she'd asked her about it she said she wouldn't be able to make the drive to Portland and back. Rather than put up with Chloe's goading and plan for a different weekend she'd swallowed her pride, which is how she now found herself in the passenger seat of Nathan's car. 

"You want anything at this stop up here?"

"No."

He drives past it. 

"How's the music?"

"It's fine."

He leans forward and shuts it off anyway after a minute. She thinks she can see tension in his movements.

Max tilts her head away from him up against the window and closes her eyes. She might as well get some sleep during the drive. Last night certainly hadn't afforded her any, all she could do was lie awake dreading this very moment. It probably isn't kind of her to ignore him like she is. He's doing her a favor after all. 

No more than fifteen minutes later, the slam of the brakes lurches her forward and the car horn rips through the monotonous silence. Max gasps awake and her heart heaves in a sickening twist.

Her eyes dart in panic but they're alone, not another car for miles. 

And he's laughing. 

"Seriously?" she grinds out. "You're twelve fucking years old. Why would you do that?"

"I was bored." 

She sees that mischievous glint in his eye and somehow they're back in school again and he's grinning at some prank in the hallway. 

"And you needed to loosen the fuck up," he adds. "You've been acting like I killed your puppy the whole ride over."

"How is faking a car accident supposed to loosen somebody up?" 

He shrugs, unable to wipe the smirk off his face. "I was hoping you could take a joke."

"Sure, funny ones."

"It was funny to me."

"You're an asshole."

"An asshole good enough to drive you on your weekend getaway."

"Yeah, well I'm starting to regret that more than ever now!"

"And as I recall, you only really start speaking your mind once you're thoroughly pissed off. So why don't you tell me what I did to make you so mad. _Before_ this," he reiterates.

"Your photos took the spot in _Portland Daily_ I wanted!"

His smile vanishes. "You submitted for that article too?"

She bites the inside of her cheek, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. It's a childish thing to be angry with him for. It's not like he'd done it on purpose to steal income from her.

"Just forget it, okay? It was fair game and it's not your fault nobody seems to want my pictures."

Now he sounds almost apologetic. "Hey, I can send you a bunch of links to business and newspapers that are trying to—"

"Please," she cuts him off. His pity is worse than his teasing. "Forget I even brought it up."

\--

When they arrive in Arcadia Bay Max lets out a breath of relief. Yellow spring flowers dot the side of the road and the rains have coaxed out thick greenery that spills over the land marker fences. She cracks the window to inhale the fresh smell of pine trees that she missed so much.

"You really love it here, don't you?" 

She snaps out of it and realizes that he's been watching her out of the corner of his eye as he navigates the curved road. 

"Of course, this is the place I grew up," she says like it's obvious. Maybe he doesn't like to remember his childhood.

He changes the subject. "I'm surprised Corrine didn't come with."

"She said she had to take care of Dexter while he's sick." She props her elbow against the car door and sinks her chin onto her fist.

Nathan scoffs. "He's a grown-ass man."

"That's what I said."

He pulls into the Two Whales parking lot to drop her off. She's supposed to be meeting Chloe here. The dashboard reads eleven-thirteen. Everything outside looks the same, like time has stood still all the years she's been away. Blue and yellow neon sign above the diner and chalkboard sign out front. The mountain rising up behind the town. The ocean winking at her from the horizon. 

"Text me when the set ends tonight," he says

She nods and hesitates with her hand on door, feeling guilty suddenly. "What are you going to do all day?"

"I told you I can entertain myself. People to see and whatever."

Chloe's late. She knows Max is coming but she's always running a few minutes behind. Max slides into her old favorite booth and looks over the plastic laminated menu. The prices have gone up since she was last here. 

On the back wall the jukebox plays some classic rock as the place begins to fill up for the lunch rush. Truckers and tourists seat themselves on stools at the counter. Just when Max is considering texting Chloe, a girl pushes open the swinging door to the diner. She looks different, but there's no mistaking who it is. 

Flannel shirt, ripped jeans, a line of piercings in one ear, and her hair a violent shade of purple. 

"Max!"

She can feel the grin splitting her face as she steps from the booth to greet her. Chloe slings an arm around Max's neck like old times and pulls her into her side. 

"You actually made it! But for the next ten hours you should fully expect me to give you shit over how long it's taken you to hit me up."

"Guilty as charged. You have no idea how good it is to see you. You look great!"

They drop into their seats in the booth. "Same. I think your freckles have doubled. And your hair's longer."

"So is yours," Max laughs. "Mine's only long because I'm too cheap to go get it cut."

"I could cut it for you while you're in town. Don't laugh, I have experience."

"I like the new color you've got going on." Max motions to Chloe's hair. It's so bright it looks freshly colored and sure enough, Max can see a splotch of dye behind her ear. She thinks Chloe might be trying to impress this musician friend she mentioned.

"Thanks. I just changed it. Hey, I thought you were bringing some friends with you."

"Change of plans after my ride bailed. It's just me."

"That sucks. At least I have you all to myself now." Chloe picks up the menu and a waitress in a stained apron comes over to the table. Max gets the mac and cheese and Chloe orders waffles.

After they order Max asks, "Is Joyce around?"

"Nah," Chloe says, taking a sip of ice water. "She's off today. Probably out on a date with her new boyfriend."

"Things didn't work out with David?"

"No, can't say I was sorry to see him go. She met this new guy on some dating website."

"Your _mom_ does online dating?" Max can't suppress her grin. 

"I know, gross right? They have these sites for old people who are trying to settle down and get remarried. It's like a whole thing."

"She's not that old."

"You know what I mean."

"Are you still living with her?"

"Not so much. I lived at home for a couple more years after the gunshot incident. I was in bad shape. It's easy to get comfortable when someone's waiting on you hand and foot. But I had to strike out on my own eventually. Got a job at a mechanic's and rented a shitty trailer down by the beach."

"Wow, you're working on cars?"

"Yep, I love it. Can't seem get the engine grease out from under my nails but the work is fun and I get paid pretty good 'cause we charge an arm and a leg for labor."

The waitress brings over two steaming plates and she has her fork in her hand before the food even hits the table. Her plate is so cheesy she knows she made the right choice. 

Chloe douses her waffles in syrup and says, "So tell me what's going on with you. I haven't heard from you in an age." She kicks Max under the table. "Last I heard you were going to college out there?"

"Finished college. I'm working for this company that sells photography equipment. I get a measly paycheck doing temp work, but I'm going out for a permanent position. That's partly why I came out this weekend, I'm really stressed out about it."

" _And_ because you were dying to visit me, right?" 

"Right."

"Do you like Portland? It seems like a badass place to live."

"Definitely, there's a lot to do out there, it's just expensive. It's got a great music scene."

"Speaking of, you gotta meet my friend Leigh. She's the one I was telling you about. Her band is playing at the Grotto tonight. But before then, we've got to make a visit to the lighthouse. And the beach. Too fucking cold to swim, but you can still get a nice punch of nostalgia while you're here."

"That all sounds great."

"What time are you leaving tonight?"

"After your friend's gig ends."

"How'd you end up getting here, anyway?"

Max swallows her macaroni, nervous. "About that...I kinda had to bum a ride from Nathan Prescott."

Chloe freezes like an ice sculpture, fork halfway to her mouth. "What the _fuck_?"

Several people look over from their stools. 

"You're shitting me." Her silverware clatters to the plate. 

"It was the only way I could come to visit after my ride bailed. My friend butted in because she knew he had a car, and then he kept offering once he found out and I didn't want to blow you off for another weekend." Max fidgets, wishing she was anywhere but here.

"So. You guys are like friends now?"

"No way. We work in the same building, that's it. Just a shitty coincidence."

Another thought occurs to Chloe. "Don't tell me he's coming to the show tonight."

"Definitely not. You won't even see him, I promise."

"I mean, I can handle it. But I'm not down to hang out."

"Neither am I. He's doing his own thing."

Chloe leans back in her seat and lets out a gust of air. "Shit, Max. You really know how to bury the lead."

"I was hoping to avoid bringing it up altogether. Can you blame me?"

"No. It's not like I'm using his picture as a dartboard or anything, but I didn't really expect to hear about him again."

"Obviously! Nobody would blame you even if you were throwing darts at his face. I'm sure you hate him worse than anybody in the world."

She shrugs. "I think he's a major asshole, but all of that fuckery was such a long time ago. I can't even say he did it on purpose."

"Really? I remember you said you guys were having an argument. So you really think it was an accident." Max lowers her voice. "He brought a _gun_ to school."

"Which was idiotic. Did he want to intimidate me? Get off on a power trip? Definitely. Kill me? Not so much. I played with guns plenty in high school myself thanks to David's home security stash. I wasn't above using it to get what I wanted and let me tell you, that little prick looked just as scared as I was when that gun went off."

Max hopes her face doesn't look as shocked as she feels. 

Chloe, messing with guns? Would she have seen this side to her if they had hung out during her senior year? She almost expected Chloe to walk out of the diner at the mention of Prescott's name, but she sounded downright reasonable over what had passed between them. A lot could change in five years. 

\--

That night Chloe brings her to a place called Mel's Grotto. Flyers with the night's lineup plaster the brick wall outside and muted bass thumps from within. Max shows her ID and pays the cover charge. The venue is flooded with green lights and a clump of people pack close to the little stage on the left wall. To the right are tables and chairs next to the bar. From one of the tables a young woman with double lip piercings and impressively thick dreads swept on top of her head waves her arm at Chloe to get her attention.

"I saved this spot for you and your friend!" she yells over the music.

"This is Leigh. Leigh, Max," Chloe says, sliding onto a chair. 

They exchange niceties and Leigh drains her beer and gets up. She has an amethyst-colored tattoo across her neck that looks suspiciously like the shade of Chloe's new hair color. "These guys are finishing up their set so I have to head backstage with the others. I'll see you both afterward!" 

Chloe flops back in her chair. "Oh, my God, she is so hot. Isn't she so hot?" she says once Leigh disappears into the crowd. "She came into the shop three weeks ago to get her bike tuned up—that's right, she drives a _motorcycle_ —and I've just been thirsting ever since."

Max laughs. "Is this the first time you've been out?" 

"Yeah, I about died when she invited me to come see her band."

"Shit, I hope I'm not crashing your date."

"Nah, it's way better that you're here. I'd be so nervous otherwise."

"You? Nervous? I don't know if I believe that."

"She's like ten times cooler than me, _plus_ I have to compete with her on-again-off-again thing she's got going with her rhythm guitarist who I'm pretty sure hates my fucking guts."

"What does Leigh play?"

"Bass. Which is way better than guitar. Or at least it is the way she plays it."

Chloe is in such a good mood she insists on buying the first round. And two rounds after that, despite Max's attempts to pay for herself. She's got a strong buzz going by the time the next set starts. Four girls come onto the stage, Leigh included, and Chloe abandons their table to rush over, Max close behind. There is a brief clash of instruments as they tune up and sure enough, the guitarist in front is shooting Chloe death glares as they elbow their way up to the front of the crowd. 

"What's up everyone, thanks for coming out tonight, we're Arcadia's Breakdown."

" _One-two-three-four!_ "

They open with a heavy bassline and a crash of cymbals. Once they launch into the opening verses Max decides their sound is too experimental for her taste, but she thrashes around with Chloe regardless, swept up in the crowd and the lights and the noise. 

After the set ends Max is winded and wiped out. Chloe must do this all the time because she's barely broken a sweat. In the restroom she rinses off her face and squeezes around a couple in a heated argument outside the door. Chloe ambushes her in a flash of purple and a breathless exclamation.

"Holy fuckballs, it's happening! She invited me to her place after they get the equipment packed up. This is it, dude."

"She doesn't waste any time."

"I guess not. So, not that I'm trying to ditch you or anything—"

"Don't worry about it, I've gotta get back home. It was great seeing you."

"Same, don't take so long to hit me up next time."

In the parking lot out front people are buzzing in a haze of cigarette and weed smoke, the afterglow settling over them. It doesn't take Nathan long to pull up once she texts him. 

The first thing he says when she climbs in the car is, "You changed your hair."

"Chloe cut it for me. It was too long."

They lapse into silence as he merges onto the highway. Great, this again. What a buzzkill.

"So...did you do everything you wanted to?" she asks him.

"I guess. There wasn't really an agenda." He shrugs. "I picked up some of my old shit from my parents' house. Visited friends for most of the day."

"Cool." Max tries and fails to sound interested and fights to hide a wince.

She resolves to at least thank him sincerely when they get back to Portland. Not only did he give her a ride but he waited around until she'd finished her plans. Surely he had better things to do with his Saturday. She's not even sure why he'd done it or why he kept being so civil to her. 

Leaning her head against the window, she watches the pine branches underneath the passing streetlights and settles in for a long, quiet drive back when a cloud of white smoke gushes from underneath the hood.

"Fuck. We're overheating." Nathan looks at the temperature gauge on the dash.

"What's wrong with it?" she asks in alarm.

"Not sure." 

He pulls the car off to the shoulder and unclicks his seatbelt, reaching underneath to pop the latch. Outside the car he rolls up his sleeves and she watches him through the windshield as he lifts the hood and props it open, examining the engine with a serious expression.

He slams the hood closed in a definitive motion four minutes later. 

When he drops heavily into the driver's seat again she looks over at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"I have no idea what the fuck I'm looking at."

He answers with such resigned honesty she has to stifle a laugh. 

The gravity of the situation hits her. "Can we call a mechanic?"

"It's ten-thirty at night, everything here's closed."

Nathan turns the car back on and watches the dashboard. They creep down the highway a little ways further but it overheats again so quickly he's forced to pull back over. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he rakes his fingers through his hair. "I guess we're not going to get very far. We'll have to wait until morning to call a mechanic."

She thinks of Chloe. She could probably identify what the problem was, but there's no way she can ask her to look at Nathan's car. No way in hell. He's right, they'd have to wait until morning.

"And in the meantime? We need to find somewhere to stay."

"Don't your parents live here? Stay with them."

She shakes her head. "They're out of town this weekend. I don't have a key. Are you going to stay with your parents?"

"That's not an option."

Her instinctive curiosity wants to ask why, but he keeps his gaze fixed glumly on the steering wheel and she refrains. 

"We're not that far out of town," he says suddenly. "There's a motel about a mile back. I'll lock up the car and we can walk. Get rooms."

"There's no way I can afford that. No, I'll have to do something else." Shelling out for a motel room would put her in an even more dire financial situation, and she refused to ask her parents for any more money. Since she still owed them it was likely they wouldn't even give it to her. 

"I can cover your room."

"Not a chance!" God, how mortifying. She'd rather sleep on the side of the street than let him pay for her motel room. 

"Now's not the time to be prideful, Caulfield. What else are you supposed to do?"

"Anything but that," she insists, trying to ignore the insulted look on his face. "I'll see if I can stay at Chloe's. She's not even going to be there tonight."

Max hates to bother her, especially knowing the kind of activity she's likely going to be interrupting. She knows how important Leigh is to Chloe, but this is an emergency. The threat of being stranded overnight with Nathan Prescott looms over her.

She calls her once, then twice, both times going to voicemail. Shit. _Are you there, i really need help_ , is the text message Max sends her. After ten minutes of nothing, Nathan grows impatient. 

"She's...busy tonight," Max says sheepishly.

"Obviously."

Her brain races to find another solution. While she's coming up empty he opens his door. "Come on, then."

"What?"

"I'm paying for rooms."

"Seriously, no. I can't do that. You get a room, I'll...stay here and sleep in the car."

"You cannot be serious."

She gives him her best determined face.

"Yeah, that's not fucking happening," he clips.

"What's the problem?"

He sputters a sarcastic laugh. "What kind of drugs are you on that you think I'm going to leave you alone, stranded on the side of the road in the middle of the night?"

"I'll _lock_ the doors," she says angrily.

"Not going to happen."

Thoroughly worked up now, she crosses her arms across her chest and hopes that he can't tell how red her face is in the dark. "Well, I'm not moving. I'm not going to the motel."

The door slams shut. "Fine! Then I'm not moving, either."

Max's arms drop to her sides in disbelief. "You're _staying_?" 

He actually reclines the seat and stretches out like he's going to sleep. 

She's so mad she could punch him. Her face burns and she's about to get out of the car and walk straight into the woods. At this point she isn't sure what's worse: Nathan paying for her motel room or having to sleep in the car with him all night. Fuming to the point of spontaneous combustion, she considers her next move. She cannot let him win this.

"This was such a mistake. I should never have come here with you," she spits.

"Because you're such a fucking beam of sunshine yourself."

She must have hit a nerve, because he yanks the lever on his seat and shoots upwards again. Unlocking his phone with a sharp flick, he begins texting at the speed of light.

"There's somewhere else we can probably stay," he grinds out. His phone buzzes a response and he texts back again, his face illuminated in blue. 

"Where?"

"Friend in town," he snaps. "That good enough for you?"

"Fine."

"He'll be here in ten minutes."

This time the silence that falls is heavy with tension crackling between them. He digs around in his glove box, shifting things around until he comes up with a crushed pack of cigarettes. She rarely sees him smoke—that time he walked her to her stop was about it. He's never down at the fountain at work. He has to dig even longer for an old matchbook. Once he lights it he holds it far out of the window and glances over at her, irritated at being watched.

She looks away.

"Why is it that the thought of me doing you a favor is like the end of the world to you?" he asks.

"I don't like owing people."

"Oh, bullshit."

"I _don't_."

"But that's not the reason. What is it about me specifically?"

"There's nothing."

"You're a shit liar, Max. There's something, you're thinking it right now. I can see it on your face. Don't be a coward, just spit it out."

"I'm not a coward."

"Then tell me why."

"Hmm, maybe because you shot my friend? Or that you bullied me relentlessly at Blackwell? And you've never acted like you're sorry for any of it," she says forcefully.

"Of _course_ I'm fucking sorry!"

"You didn't even ask me once how Chloe's doing."

"I figured she didn't want me in her business, I was trying to be fucking polite by avoiding an awkward conversation I knew you didn't want to have. How would you have honestly reacted if I had started talking to you about Chloe?"

Not very well, she thinks. Apparently the question is rhetorical because he continues.

"I know you'd like to think I'm some monster who can't weigh the consequences of his actions, or that I'm still the same stupid kid who thinks it's cool to wave a gun around just to get people to take me seriously, but I'm not. I'm sorry that I was a disaster of a human being and that I teased you in school. And if I'd known you were carrying this five-year grudge around, I would have damn well kept my distance from you. If you're still stuck in high school, that's your own problem, but the rest of us have moved on."

Wrapping up this little speech, he flicks his cigarette out into the road. It's cold, but she doesn't ask him to roll the window up.

"It wasn't my intention to hold a grudge. I was just..." she searches for the right word, "wary."

He nods. "I deserve that."

"You're right, though, people shouldn't be judged for the rest of their lives based on stupid things they did as a teenager. Not when they work hard to be a better person."

It makes her so mad every time he picks and picks at her to say what's on her mind, but she does feel better now that everything is out in the open, rather than drowning in unspoken words.

Headlights brighten the car as another vehicle pulls over onto the shoulder behind them. Nathan rolls up the window and climbs out; Max follows. The driver cuts the headlights and gets out as well.

"Back for more trouble, Prescott? It's almost like I just saw you an hour ago."

"Funny."

He's wearing sweatpants and has a blunt tucked behind his ear. Max squints in the dark. "Is that Hayden Jones?" She remembers him from school. They were in the same art class and he had partied a lot with Victoria and the Vortex Club.

"The one and only. Hey, I know you. Don't tell me. Don't tell me. Shit." He snaps his fingers. "Maxine!"

"Max," Nathan corrects him before she can say anything.

"Right, Max. What are you doing hanging out with this douchebag?"

"You're a regular laugh riot, Jones," says Nathan. "Can we just get outta here?"

"Definitely, let's roll."

Max climbs in the backseat of his car and shoves a pile of gym clothes off to the side. Empty energy drink cans sit at her feet. It's a night and day difference to Nathan's spotless car. Hayden makes a wide U-turn and takes the blunt out from behind his ear to light it, holding the steering wheel in place with one knee. Inhaling thickly, he glances over at Nathan. "What's up with your car, man?" he says through the smoke. 

"Who knows. For now, it's fucked. I gotta call a mechanic in the morning." 

Hayden passes to Nathan and soon the car is permeated with a faint haze that makes the clock on the dashboard fuzzy. She takes a hit when it's offered and relaxes back into her seat.

"When Nathan said he had a friend with him I sure wasn't expecting you," Hayden says.

"When he said we could stay at his friend's house I wasn't expecting _you_ ," she counters. 

"Sounds like fate to me."

Nathan makes a sound that's between a scoff and a snort.

"So, I haven't seen you since school. How's it with you?" 

"Oh, you know," says Max. "More school. Job. The usual. Nathan and I both work for Precision Photo. It's a sales company." 

"Thaaat explains it. Thrown together by circumstance. I knew she wouldn't be wasting time with your bum ass otherwise," he shoots over to Nathan.

"What are you doing these days?" she asks.

"Advertising. I'm working for this place that prints logos on anything you want. Hats, mousepads, tablets, condoms." He shrugs. "Pays the bills."

"Thanks, by the way. For bailing us out," she says.

Hayden glances at her in the rearview mirror. "Hey, no problem." He swings the car into a narrow driveway. "And here we are."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED.  
> haha, just kidding. unless...?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> playlist for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0c7NhwbQl9Ylu_YAfJDORHwa-30rxvkV
> 
> i've been making more progress on this recently. we're all moved and maybe we'll get fully unpacked within the next decade or so lmao
> 
> hope everybody's staying safe

* * *

Hayden's house is cluttered, but not quite as messy as his car. Max can see dishes stacked in the sink and neglected piles of mail in the dark kitchen. The walls are a standard off-white color and have framed video game posters hanging up. In the corner of the living room a small aquarium bubbles softly. She heads straight for it to examine the fish inside. A blue threadbare sofa and a beanbag chair sit opposite from a sizeable tv, every game console imaginable stuffed onto the shelves underneath, a tangle of wires visible behind them. Tossing his keys onto the counter, he stretches his arms above his head. 

"You guys still trying to party? I can roll another one. Or I've got some multiplayer options," Hayden gestures to the tv.

"Thought you said you were sick of me," Nathan smirks. "Anyway, I've gotta get up early and figure out this car thing. We've got work on Monday."

"No worries, I'll leave you to it. Let me move this shit outta your way." He clears a pile of laundry from the sofa. "Bathroom's through there. You guys can fight over the couch. Unless the lovely Max wants to bunk with me."

"Give it a rest." Nathan says it casually but Max spots a tightness in his jaw like he's grinding his teeth. 

Hayden gives them a mock salute and disappears into his bedroom with a bag of cheese puffs and two cans of soda. 

"So this is where you've been all day."

"Yeah. I hadn't hung out with him in a while."

"Do you see anyone else from school?"

"Besides Vic, no. You?"

"I used to hang out with Kate Marsh but she lives too far away now." Max continues watching the little fish swim around the green rocks. 

"Do you want to watch tv?"

Not really. "Sure."

She sits on the couch and doesn't know what to think when he settles on the floor and leans his back up against the coffee table. He keeps the volume low and when she insists she doesn't care what they watch he puts on an episode of Planet Earth. Nature shows always seem to be a safe bet no matter who you're hanging out with. 

Max has her old shoulder bag with her, the one she used at Blackwell and later, university. It's well-worn; there's a crude stitch in red thread across the bottom where she'd had to repair a rip. She takes out the stack of polaroids she'd taken that day while she was with Chloe and begins to sort through them on the coffee table. 

"What's this pile for?"

She doesn't know how long he's been watching her.

"Those are the ones that didn't come out so well."

He flips through them. "Wow, you don't like this one?"

"I messed up the framing."

"No, no, it's this irregular angle that makes it. For me, anyway. You've got the neon whales in the sign fighting to be the main focus, but the mountains behind it ends up making the bigger statement. It's nature winning out against modern structures."

She shrugs at his analysis. Had they really been fighting less than forty minutes ago? 

It's as if he can tell what she's thinking. "Sorry about earlier and my shitty apology. If you can even call it that."

"Well, we were both pretty heated. I said some stuff, too. Don't worry about it." 

Yawning, she stuffs her photos back into her bag. Hayden had left a pile of blankets for them. She's grateful they smell clean. Since Nathan hasn't even sat near her since they arrived, she assumes she's supposed to take the couch. She unlaces her old Chucks and lines them neatly beside the coffee table along with her bag. 

It feels like they're in for a strange night. But at least they're not in the car. 

Max stretches out on the couch underneath a red plaid blanket and Nathan gets up to turn off the light. He takes off his own shoes and belt and when he looks over at her she realizes she's staring and darts her eyes back to the tv. 

He takes two blankets and puts the full length of the coffee table between them before he stretches out as well.

"You want this on?"

"What?"

He gestures to the television.

"Oh. No."

The tv goes dead with a click and they're plunged into semi-darkness, the purple light from the aquarium emanating softly from the corner. 

\--

Max knows he's awake. 

He's not making noise, per se, but his breathing is irregular and he keeps shifting restlessly on the floor. 

His phone lights up and she hears the light tapping of his thumb.

Originally she'd turned to face the couch but the sound of him moving in the dark behind her was too strange so she'd turned back the other way. 

No big deal, she tells herself. Just two coworkers stranded and making the best of an awkward scenario. Or maybe it was more strange than awkward. 

Hayden's couch is the most uncomfortable piece of furniture she's ever had the misfortune to sleep on. The cushions are so sunken in she can feel the wooden bars of the frame and metal springs beneath her. It's no wonder she's been awake for so long. It has nothing to do with Nathan on the floor three feet away, right?

"Are you awake?" 

She whispers it and it feels so intimate for some reason that she instantly regrets it. Stupid. Of course he's awake, he's looking at his phone. 

"Yes," he answers in a regular voice. 

Clearing her throat, she asks him if he wants to switch.

"What?"

"Do you want the couch? I can't sleep on it, there's fucking springs sticking up."

"Well, you've made it sound so appealing."

"I mean. It's not that bad. I just can't sleep on it."

"I'm good."

Minutes pass. Twenty? Thirty? Nathan puts his phone away and all she can hear is the bubbling aquarium. Max has made up her mind to move off the horrible couch but is waiting for him to fall asleep. He hasn't moved in a while. She can't tell by his breathing. After ten more minutes she tells herself she's being ridiculous and just does it. Taking hold of her blanket and the squashed throw pillow she's using, she sits up as quietly as she can and slides to the floor, aiming to keep a respectable distance between her and Nathan.

She thinks she hears his breath catch. He was not asleep. 

It feels instantly better for her back to be off the couch. There's a strip of blue light underneath Hayden's door from his tv. Maybe all three of them are awake, forced into insomnia due to the irregular circumstances. 

\--

The tip of her nose is an iceberg. 

Arcadia Bay mornings were usually cold due to the fog that wafted in from the ocean each night. It would be burned off by noon but in the meantime Hayden's house is freezing.

It takes her a few seconds, but she realizes that she's also feeling delicious warmth all along her left side. 

Shit. It's from _Nathan_ , who's entirely too close with his leg pressed against hers. 

At some point in the night they had shifted. She can't tell which one of them had moved. Maybe they had both met somewhere in the middle.

They're close—close enough that she can see all the minute details of his face. The faint golden dusting of stubble across his jaw that he always shaved before coming in to work. Collarbones that disappear down the line of his shirt. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. She swallows and carefully inches herself away from him, cold air flooding the empty space between them.

At least she hadn't accidentally flung an arm across him in her sleep. Right as she's imagining all the ways this could have been worse, Hayden's door swings open and he trudges forward, presumably to the bathroom, eyes closed and clearly on autopilot. Max is about to get stepped on and at the last second she rolls away and he trips over her blanket. "My bad! I forgot you were here."

But she's not listening, having rolled directly into Nathan. He wakes immediately. There's a confusing jumble of limbs for a split second before she's up and off of him. Warm hands, muscled torso, soft clothes, bare arms. 

The bathroom door clicks shut and Max scrambles to the couch for her phone, pretending like nothing happened. 

Later, they stand in the kitchen making toast when Chloe finally texts her back.

**Chloe:** _Are u okay ?_  
 **Max:** _I am now. Got stranded last night but found somewhere to crash_  
 **Chloe:** _sorry I didn't see ur text. I was preoccupied_  
 **Chloe:** _preoccupied getting laaaaaaaaid_  
 **Max:** _lol thanks for the update_  
 **Chloe:** _you still stranded tho? we could go get bfast_  
 **Max:** _Better not, we're trying to find someone to look at the car. Will text later_

Chloe doesn't offer assistance, and Max doesn't expect her to. It would be too weird. 

Most shops don't even answer the phone, it being a Sunday, but Nathan finally reaches a mobile mechanic who agrees to come have a look at the car. Hayden drives them over first thing, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep but still in a cheerful mood regardless.

"See y'all next time!" he says through his open car window once he drops them off. "Stay outta trouble."

\--

It turns out to be a leak in one of the radiator hoses and Nathan sags in relief at the news. A busted hose is a hell of a lot cheaper and quicker to replace than a busted radiator. Max is thrilled they won't have to stay another night or call in to work. 

They're back on the road by one that afternoon and halfway through their trip Nathan pulls into a rest stop for gas and they get out to stretch their legs. Rain falls gently and they can hear light thunder in the distance. When Max heads inside to use the restroom Nathan hands her a five and asks if she can bring him a Dr. Pepper. 

The thick trees make such a pretty shape against the stormclouds on the horizon that she snaps a photo before she goes in.

When she comes out he's leaning against his open driver's door waiting for the gas to pump and she hands him the can and struggles to keep a straight face. He snaps it open and soda sprays everywhere, blooming into dark spots onto his gray shirt and dripping down his chin. 

"Oh, come _on_!"

She dissolves into peals of giggles and he reaches over his seat to whip napkins out of the glove box. 

"It's all on the inside of the door," he complains angrily, lunging to wipe down the interior before he even cleans his face. 

She shrugs. "I was bored. I hoped you could take a joke."

He stops cleaning and glares at her for mirroring his words back at him. " _My_ joke didn't ruin the inside of your car."

"It's not ruined." She rolls her eyes. 

He points a finger at her which is probably meant to be menacing. "You get this _one_ , but don't mess with my car again. You're on thin ice, Caulfield."

She bites back more laughter and even though he sounds mad she catches the ghost of a smile on his face in the rearview as he slides into the driver's seat. 

\--

Later that week Max accepts a video call from her parents. They're sitting way too close to the webcam and their faces take up the whole screen. She can see the gray hairs in her dad's beard and the bags underneath her mom's eyes behind her old reading glasses.

"Did you get that promotion yet?" her mom asks with excitement.

"No, I haven't even had my interview with Mr. Hughes yet. It's on Thursday."

"Make _sure_ you ask him questions at the end of the interview," her mom says. "I read this article that said the biggest mistake young people make is not having intelligent questions ready at the end because they're in such a hurry for it to be over. You need to ask about growth opportunities and if there's anything in your resume that leads him to believe you're not qualified."

"I know, Mom."

"I'll send you the article."

"And don't give a weak handshake," her dad says. "A limp fish handshake is the quickest way to tell your employer you have no self-confidence."

"What a mess I see behind you!"

Max shifts her laptop to hide the background from their view. She desperately tries to get their focus off her. "How was your trip?"

"Nothing fancy. But oh, it was nice to get away for a bit. We toured the whole museum and the Hendersons took us out to eat at the neatest little place. I'll email you the museum pictures."

"Sounds great."  
  
\--

"How long is this going to take?" Lucia asks, slumping forward in her chair.

"I don't know. At least another hour. We have to reconcile the numbers the shipping warehouse sent us with what we have in our system," Nathan replies without looking up from the screen. 

"I'm so bored!"

"We're all bored."

It's inventory day at Precision and knowing that there were three temps to shove the work onto didn't motivate the employees to try very hard during work hours. Max is stuck with Lucia and Nathan working late to finish up. The office is a ghost town like Max is used to in the morning, except now the windows are dark and there's a cricket echoing in some distant corner of the building. They'd already finished the office supplies and were now onto their main supply of photo equipment. 

They're hunched around Max's computer with binders and highlighters and spreadsheet printouts scattered on the long table. Lucia picks at her gel manicure and texts rapidly.

"What about the model 58s? I've got a count of one-hundred-nineteen," Nathan says.

Max runs her finger down the spreadsheet. "One-nineteen," she confirms.

"I'm going to get more coffee," Lucia announces, sliding out of her chair. "Anybody?"

"I'm good."

The office kitchen consists of a strip of countertop next to the fridge on the back wall of the break room, and Max can see her through the glass windows, leaning up against the counter and laughing at something on her phone, coffeepot untouched.

She sips her own coffee and stretches her arms above her head. They go over three more lines before Lucia comes out of the breakroom. 

"Wow, you guys are making such great progress! I need to run down to my car real quick, I forgot something." Max can smell her cherry blossom lotion as she breezes out the door, her heels clicking distantly on the hallway linoleum on her way to the elevator. 

"Hang on," Nathan says as he checks a text. He answers with a grimace and sets his phone facedown. They finish half a page and his phone buzzes again. His jaw looks tense as he types a response. Max slides Lucia's stack of papers in front of her to see how much they have left when she notices Nathan rubbing his temple in frustration.

"Everything alright?"

"It's Kris," he says. "Giving me a hard time. She's staying with me temporarily and we've been at each other's throats for days."

"That sounds rough."

"You don't have any brothers or sisters, do you?"

"No, just me."

"Lucky." He sets his phone on the table with a sharp clatter. 

"Sometimes, I guess." She shrugs. "It could get pretty lonely growing up. I never had anyone at home I could relate to on my own level."

"The only thing Kris and I have in common is shared trauma."

"Was it that bad?"

"Well. My dad smacked me around a lot, and our mom systematically dismantled any semblance of Kristine's self-esteem. It really was a team effort to unleash such a disastrous pair of kids into the world. What about yours?"

"My parents? I got along better with them in high school than I do now, which seems backwards. They're supportive. But they treat me like I'm a little kid, and I can't tell if that's because they think I act like one, or if that's just their way. It's hard to talk to them because every little thing has to be a critique or a judgment or a lecture. I don't want to tell them anything."

"Nobody would with that reaction. I don't think they have much of a leg to stand on. You made it through school and you're on your own, supporting yourself."

Somebody taps on the office door, locked for the night. She's surprised to see a delivery guy through the glass.

"About time." Nathan pushes out of his chair and reaches for his wallet. Her stomach growls. She's glad he's on the other side of the room and can't hear it. 

"Here." He tosses her a thick sandwich wrapped in paper when he comes back.

"When did you order food?"

"You were in the bathroom." He unwraps his own sandwich.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Obviously not. It's late and I was hungry."

When her stomach growls again as she peels the paper off, she shifts in her chair trying to hide the noise. It's one of those "gourmet" sandwiches on French bread and some fancy pesto sauce dribbles out the side as she takes a bite. "How'd you know I like turkey?"

"Lucky guess."

"What do I owe you?"

"Nothing."

"Come on."

"I had a coupon, Caulfield. It was free."

"You did not."

"Prove it."

She rolls her eyes and glances over at the office door. "Lucia sure is taking a long time."

"She's not coming back," he says as if it's so obvious.

"What are you talking about?"

"'I forgot something in my car'? Give me a fucking break. She split, she even took her purse."

Max hadn't noticed that her purse was missing. "How can she just ditch us like that? There's still work to finish."

"You shouldn't be shocked at her antics. Not everyone is an avid rule-follower."

"There's breaking rules and then there's being plain shitty."

"Eh, we don't need her anyway. Besides, now I have you all to myself."

He speaks lightly as if he's making a joke but she scoffs involuntarily. "Yeah, sure. What good is that going to do?"

"You wouldn't have ever told me about your parents if she was here."

"So? Why do you even want to know?"

"I just think you're interesting."

He seems to be telling the truth—no sign of embarrassment at his own candor. Again, her instinct is to say something self-deprecating but she stops herself. She uncaps a highlighter and fidgets with the papers in front of her. When she glances up he's still looking at her. 

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes, has it been three months already? just know that i have an excellent excuse.
> 
> ch. 6 playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0c7NhwbQl9Z1ad63ISkmxMuhjMytF9au

* * *

"Drinks in the air, everyone. To Corrine, may your twenty-fourth year be just as unhinged as your twenty-third!"

"Oh, fuck you, Victoria."

More scattered laughter.

"To Corrine!" she repeats, and they all echo her and drink.

Victoria, to Max's surprise, had volunteered to host Corrine's birthday at her apartment. 

"Do it," Nathan had said in the breakroom earlier that week. "If you want anyone throwing you a party it's Victoria Chase. Trust me on that." 

Now, looking at the transformation of Victoria's little gold and white apartment, she's starting to see what he was talking about. Everything is lit up with glittering strand lights hung from the ceiling and there's an industrial-strength speaker hooked into her sound system. A champagne fountain sits delicately on the dining table amidst the other beer and liquor bottles lined up for everybody's perusal. In the kitchen are brightly-colored sushi rolls and shrimp cocktail on ice, a spread of cold cuts and exotic cheeses that Max can't identify, and different flavored hummus with pita chips. Personalized cake pops in red and black decorated with big curly C's on them.

The party is smaller than she would have expected, only about twenty people. She doesn't recognize most of them and assumes they're other friends of Corrine's, all of them looking incongruous against the glamorous backdrop of the party in their disheveled dark clothes—frayed cuffs, graphic tees, heavy platform boots. 

Enough joints and glass pieces are passed around the party that a lot of them gravitate toward the kitchen for snacks at the same time, and it's here that Max finds Corrine, picking through the spread on the counter. She hasn't seen much of her yet.

"I'm surprised you wanted to stay in for your birthday," says Max. "Not that Victoria didn't do a fantastic job with everything here."

"Well, last year I did a bar crawl." Corrine flicks her wrist to slide her silver bracelets out of the way before reaching for a piece of shrimp. "I ended up spending almost two hundred bucks on drinks and ubers before the night was out, plus I almost got arrested for getting high in the bathroom. It was so not worth it. Puking in the bushes around the side of the building and trying to wrangle everyone up for the next bar—buzzkill. So far this is working out way better."

Max had shown up earlier with a gift wrapped in newspaper. She'd found a nice frame at a thrift store and put a collage of polaroids in it. Corrine and Dexter at the company picnic. Her and Max on the train. A candid of Corrine on the fountain in front of the office. She said she loved it but Max felt the gesture came off as juvenile after she realized nobody else had brought a birthday gift, that it wasn't that kind of party, apparently. 

"Shit, I've eaten like fifty of these little bitches, I can't stop." Corrine bites into another cake pop, this one black with red hearts. 

"Don't forget," Victoria announces to all of the stoned party guests crowded around the food as she breezes into the kitchen, "we've got catered group trays on the way. Pad thai and spring rolls."

This is met with many sounds of approval and Victoria makes her way over to them and slides gracefully onto the counter by the sink without even wrinkling her white leather mini. "Is the music okay?" she asks.

"Everything's _perfect_ , I'm telling you," Corrine assures her with a dismissive hand gesture. "Time to switch out of hostess mode and get trashed with the rest of us."

"Hey, Corrine," Max hears behind her. She turns and Nathan is standing right next to her shoulder with a joint pinched between his fingers. His sudden nearness is startling and she can smell faint cologne beneath the weed smoke. He sounds apologetic. "Look, I'm sorry I had to bring Kris. It's not a good time for her to be left to her own devices and—" he cuts off as if he's said too much already but Corrine is barely listening.

She carefully pours a slug of vodka into a crystal-cut tumbler with a gold rim, sharply contrasting her crimson fingernails and she lets out a laugh, unbothered. "Dude, don't sweat it, I don't care that you brought your sister. She seems cool." 

Nathan doesn't answer, only drags his eyes to the living room where Kristine is noisily entertaining everybody with party tricks: taking the tops off champagne bottles against the edges of the table and expertly bouncing quarters into glasses at impossible angles. He takes a deep pull from his joint, expression wary, his gaze still fixed in his sister's direction. Max can see Dexter sitting close beside Kristine—pointedly close— laughing in a desperate way at her antics, fingers hovering just above her bare knee as if he's working up courage.

"Does that bother you?" Max asks him.

"What?"

She nods her head toward the living room. 

"Who, Dexter? No, he can hit on whoever he wants. I'm just hoping Kris won't end up causing a scene."

"Does she do that a lot or something?"

"Kind of. When she drinks too much."

Max remembers helping Victoria with Kristine that day. Her combative mannerisms and the loose slippery way she held herself, falling off her chair and leaning too far to the side as she walked. It had been like trying to keep gelatin upright. She doesn't bring this up. Nathan looks embarrassed enough as it is.

"Want some?" He tries to pass Max the joint but she shakes her head no and he hands it to Corrine instead, who is engaged in a conversation about nightclubs with Victoria. Her silver rings clink against her glass as she drinks.

"Sorry to hear about your interview. I bet you're anxious to get it over with," Nathan says.

Max's interview, which was supposed to have been two days prior on Thursday, had been rescheduled to the following week. Mr. Hughes hadn't even bothered to walk the five steps out of his office to tell her; a little blip sounded in her inbox, informing her of the hasty memo he'd sent to her at the last minute. She'd been up in a fitful half-sleep the night before in anticipation, so she'd told herself that it was better that it had been pushed off to a different day so she could get a better night's sleep in preparation.

"Yeah. I'm sick of being jerked around by management," she says in a glum voice. "I don't even know why they had to postpone it."

"I heard that corporate sent over some last-minute contenders that got fast-tracked to the front of the line. Were there more people coming in and out yesterday?"

"Come to think of it, there were. I didn't realize they were trying out for the job."

She must look anxious. "Don't worry about it," he says. "It's kind of a given that Hughes has to jump through corporate hoops. That doesn't change all the hard work we've been putting in since day one."

"Yeah, I guess. Have you had yours yet?"

"Nah. Pushed to Monday."

A shrill call from the living room. "Bitch, it's your song!" Setting her now-empty glass on the counter, Corrine races out of the kitchen. Raucous laughter and the deep thump of bass.

"You need another one?" Nathan motions to the beer bottle in Max's hand. She automatically brings it to her lips and finds it empty. "Me, too. Be right back."

After he moves away Victoria slides a few inches across the counter to give her full attention to Max. She's got the rest of Nathan's joint in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. 

"How's your photography going?" Max inquires.

"It's going," Victoria answers with an amiable head bob, pausing to pick a piece of weed off of her tongue. "Not too exciting lately, but I've got a couple projects in the works. Last week I was hired to shoot some band I've never heard of before. Apparently they're really big on the east coast? I cannot for the life of me remember their name. Their music sucked anyway so it's whatever."

There aren't as many people in the kitchen anymore, having been drawn to the clamor and jovial party noises that rise above the music in the front room. "But still, it's good to have work," Max says diplomatically.

"Oh, sure. I'm not complaining about a paying job, don't get me wrong. My ultimate goals involve a little more creativity, though. I've been experimenting a lot with neon lighting recently in my personal time. I love the contrast of photographing more traditional art subjects with modern lighting and backdrops. Neon-classical. I just finished a series of Greek statues bathed in these totally electric shades, highlighter pink and UFO lime and stuff, you know? The prints came out awesome and if all goes well I'll be able to install an exhibit downtown soon."

"Wow, that sounds amazing. It must be a lot of fun to explore your own style."

"What about you, are you able to do much on the side with your current job?"

"I'm hoping for anything that pays the bills," Max answers truthfully. "I haven't had much luck with freelancing so far. I was able to pull in a little bit last month but it's been tough."

By now Nathan has returned with another beer, handing it off to Max before politely drifting back into the other room with the rest of the crowd once he caught wind of their topic, almost as if he could sense Max's discomfort at his being privy to the conversation; she still felt embarrassed after her slip-up in the car, that awful vulnerability that came along with revealing too much of oneself inadvertently.

Victoria cocks her head to the side. "Hmm. What's your portfolio hosted on?"

Max tells her and her nose wrinkles delicately in response and it reminds Max of their time at Blackwell, moving silently past her in the hallway as she criticized the posters on the bulletin boards to her friends. _Another mandatory pep rally this month? This rah-rah school spirit bullshit is getting old. No way am I going._ "I'm familiar," says Victoria. "Clunky, inundated with hundreds of thousands of amateurs uploading pics of sunsets from their iPhones? Trust me, you don't want to use that site. I've got mine hosted on Framely."

Victoria slides off the counter to show her an app on her phone. Floral perfume, jingling earrings as she leans in close. 

"I've heard of it," Max says apprehensively as Victoria scrolls down. She has to admit it's a good layout—sleek and minimalist. "It costs money to use, though."

"True, but it's _local_ and more exclusive. You want people to come to you. I mean, definitely keep looking for freelance opps like you're doing, but this is where big-name publications in our city actively scout for talent in the area. Nobody is scouting out those free websites. This pays for itself in no time if you've got a good grip on photography. Which I know you do."

Max thinks of her budget, already stretched paper-thin. "Well, I'll look into it." She doesn't mean for it to sound so dismissive, and Victoria picks up on it.

"This totally saved my ass when I first moved out here. If freelance and side jobs are what you're after, I promise it's worth it to have something that looks professional. And look, I'll even text you a discount code," —typing rapidly on her screen, joint stub long forgotten in the ashtray— "Half price the first three months. Can't beat it. Oh! And wait 'til you see the customization options, you can completely tailor it to your own style. Do you know HTML?"

"Uh, not really."

"No worries, I know this guy that's like a wizard at it and he owes me big. He helped me set up mine. I'll have him text you. Or is email better? Anyway, you won't even have to bother meeting him in person if you don't want. Once he has a vague idea of what you'd like he can send you a few mock-ups and you can work from there."

"That does sound pretty cool."

"Oh, and look at this." She angles her phone towards Max again. "You can have your digital portfolio here, but they also let you set up your own store for prints and commissions. You should definitely make more of those polaroid collages. Like the one you made for Corrine. You've really got an eye for it and they would sell like lightning. They don't even take a percentage of your sales."

Shocked at how convincing Victoria is, she drains the rest of her beer which she'd slammed down out of nervousness. It doesn't appear that Victoria was doing the whole insincere party small-talk either; soon Max's phone buzzes with both the discount code and the number of the HTML guy ("Expect his text by Monday!")

\--

As the night presses on Max feels herself slipping into a content drunkenness—a cozy reassurance that life isn't so terrible underneath the bright glow of the lights, that she could lose herself in the loud music and the lively companionship of the people around her. 

Corrine's enthusiasm is infectious, and the more beers Max has the easier it is to dance and ease herself into conversations, laughing with flushed cheeks and heavy-limbed warmth.

Preoccupied as she is, it's a while before she recognizes the awkward tension in the room. 

Kristine speaking in a slurred voice over everyone, limbs articulating wildly, tactless interjections into any nearby conversation. Sideways glances exchanged, the unspoken disbelief cutting through the euphoria of the group.

" _Seriously_? You think this pad thai is anywhere _close_ to authentic?" Kristine's overly-loud voice dripping with condescension. "Sweetie, I've actually been to Thailand, have you? God, none of you would know culture if it hit you between the eyes. What? I'm just stating a fact." She shakes off Victoria's subtle grasp and continues to berate the couple in front of her. 

Things start getting heated when she won't keep her hands off of somebody's boyfriend, slurring and belligerent at this point. Nathan's cheeks red as he steers Kristine to the front door, muttering rapidly to her, looking as if he's trying to fold inward on himself to look as small and unobtrusive as possible. 

It's late enough that people have started filtering out, driven to a semi-sober state due to the tense atmosphere. Deciding on one more beer, Max moves to the kitchen and pops the top off a new bottle, leaning against the wall to catch her breath. She's a little unsteady on her feet. 

The front door opens and closes again with a smooth click, and soon she can hear Victoria and Nathan in the entryway.

"You can't keep letting her do this to you," says Victoria. "I thought you would have learned by now."

"It's not going to be this way forever."

"As long as you keep enabling it, yes it will. And _you're_ the one that's going to be majorly screwed over in the end. You've already had too many close calls with them."

"I'm handling it," Nathan says darkly.

"You're being way too easy on her."

"It's a family thing. You wouldn't understand."

"I wouldn't understand?" says Victoria after a stunned pause. She lets out a noise halfway between a laugh and a scoff. A quick staccato of disbelief. " _I_ wouldn't? I'm the only person who was around to see, the only one who had any semblance of what it was like for you two growing up and you're going to insult me by saying I wouldn't understand?"

"You know that's not—"

"No. I don't want to hear it. I'm done with this. I need another drink."

Max slips back into the living room before she can catch her eavesdropping. Kristine is nowhere to be seen. 

There's something going on with Nathan's sister that she can't pin down. Something that Victoria knows about too that they won't say flat out. So far all of Nathan's language has been vague— _bad time for her to be alone, staying with me temporarily_. The obvious guess is a drug or alcohol problem. But the addition of Victoria's ominous phrases presented a different mystery: _thought you would have learned, too many close calls with them, screwed over in the end._

Always naturally curious, Max can feel that familiar itch when there's information just out of her reach. She's dying to ask Victoria about it but doesn't dare intrude on Nathan's privacy. It had been obvious even in high school how deep Victoria's loyalty to the Prescotts ran, and she probably wouldn't tell Max anything, anyway.

When she spots Nathan out on the tiny balcony with a cigarette, he looks so crestfallen that she can't resist joining him. Outside, the air is warm with an occasional cool breeze stirring through. It smells like it might rain. The city below them is still lit up with the vibrant energy of weekend nightlife, music and neon and electricity.

He's leaning forward with his elbows on the cast-iron railing. The slump of his shoulders is telling. 

"Are you okay?"

He turns and lets out a stream of blue smoke into the dark. "Me? Yeah. Only—" He looks down at the orange ember of his cigarette and forces out a sarcastic laugh. "I've been so close to quitting these. Then a couple weeks with my sister and I'm up to four a day."

"Is she really that bad?"

"No. I know it probably seems that way, but I'm just venting. You know how family has that special way of pushing your buttons like no one else can. But there was a time when she was the only one taking care of me. There's not much I wouldn't do for her."

Max can't necessarily relate with this fierce sense of obligation to someone in your family despite the vein of frustration that runs alongside it, but she nods anyway. 

"Did she go home then?"

"Friend picked her up just now." He stubs the remainder of his cigarette into the soil of a potted fern. "So you know most of those people in there?" He nods his chin toward the door.

"Not at all. Corrine's friends, I assume. Unless Victoria invited people too."

"That explains why you're wasting time out here with me."

He sounds like he's fishing for something and she's not entirely sure what it is. The clouds overhead slide away and award them with a slice of moonlight. With the mischievous flare in Nathan's eye and the dramatic shadow from his cheekbone cast across his face from the moon, she gets a sudden urge to capture this expression. She wishes she'd brought her camera to the party. 

"Show me some of your photos," she blurts, feeling brave from the alcohol.

He's suspicious. "Why?"

"You got to see mine. Now it's your turn. I _know_ you've got some uploaded in your phone. Do you still prefer monochrome film?"

He blinks in surprise. "I didn't realize you knew."

"I liked to keep tabs on everybody's art in school. It was kind of my thing."

"Scoping out the competition," he says, sliding his phone out of his pocket. "No wonder you were leaps ahead of everybody. Man, I can't tell you how relieved Vic was when you didn't turn in an entry to that contest our senior year. That heroes thing? She knew you'd beat her for sure. Why didn't you?"

"I didn't finish my entry in time," she lies. It's easier than saying the truth: that she'd doubted herself, yet again. It's always easier to stay shielded from rejection when you don't put yourself out there. 

Nathan finally relinquishes his phone and lets her flip through it. 

"I'm not gonna stumble on any nudes, right?" Oh, God. Why did she say that? She'd been trying to make a joke but the satisfied look on his face makes her regret it. 

"Different folder. You're safe for now."

She ignores _for now_ and ducks her burning face into the light of his phone. 

Beautifully framed nature shots, mostly—big trees, hedges swallowing up a low brick wall, a lone fountain without any water, desolate and eerie, cracks trailing down the stone. There's something sad resonating in many of the photos. A single dead rose contrasted against a blooming bush. 

"I love these. Do you only shoot nature?"

"No, lately I've been venturing into architecture. Looks great in monochrome. I used to shoot faces, but...not anymore."

Jefferson's name floats menacingly between them. He always preferred human subjects. 

"I especially like all these roses," she says quickly. "Where did you take all these?"

"The rose garden. Over by Washington Park."

"I've never been."

"Really? You've gotta check it out. There's a million things to shoot over there." He flashes a smile as he says this and she's not prepared for the unbidden flip in her chest. Large gulp of beer, cold on her throat going down.

"I'm always looking for wildlife—Arcadia Bay was a little better for that, but there's this cool old white oak tree outside my apartment window that has birds and squirrels in it if I get up early enough to catch them." _Or if I'm still up from the night before_ , she thinks. Insomnia is a bitch. 

"Then you should definitely check out that park, it's worth it."

There's a loud cheer from inside and Max is reminded of the party going on. Their fingers brush like a whisper when she hands his phone back and she resists the urge to wipe the tingling away as she goes inside after making a clumsy excuse. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be editing in a playlist later on. i don't have access to my yt account as my computer is currently undergoing open-heart surgery. it was supposed to be finished by now but it turns out my ram is incompatible w the new motherboard, sooo now i'm waiting for yet another package and working on the laptop in the meantime.
> 
> despite that nonsense, i'm still making good progress on this, got the next four chapters done!

* * *

The next morning Max sits at her window with a crappy cup of coffee from her temperamental old drip brewer. It's early enough that the white oak tree is teeming with birds, the branches swaying as they hop back and forth. Leaves drip from the leftover rain. She snaps a photo and leans her chin against her hand. The sun is up, but not high enough to break the buildings on the horizon. 

She'd crashed on one of Victoria's sofas the night before, jerking awake just before dawn in a disoriented haze. The room was still with the deathly silence that permeates the air the morning after a party. Empty bottles and glass tumblers across the coffee table; cigarettes and joint ends stubbed onto leftover plates in the dim light from the towering window. A boy Max barely recognized was sprawled asleep on the floor near the kitchen, a throw pillow wedged awkwardly beneath his face. Down the tiny hallway through the open door Max could see Corrine passed out on the bed in the guest room on her stomach, mouth open. 

She had risen from the sofa, head aching, her tongue like sandpaper. The faucet in the kitchen ran and she was startled to find Nathan in rumpled jeans and an undershirt, holding a glass under the tap with dark circles under his eyes. 

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she croaked.

He had laughed and took a long swallow, offering her a glass from the cabinet behind him. 

"Come on, I'll drive you home."

But she'd refused. There was something about the smooth expanse of skin over his biceps and the mess of his hair, the way sleep still clung to him, that had made her want to run for the hills. 

Ducking out shortly after, she'd walked through the feathery drizzle of rain to the nearest stop, feeling her headache in her teeth with every footstep. 

Now, she closes her window with a sneeze after taking two photos of the plump golden birds in the tree. Her stomach feels nauseous from the hangover and she sips tentatively at her coffee. It needs sugar but she'd forgotten to buy some at the store. 

She opens the Framely app and thinks about what Victoria told her the night before about local sources scouting for freelance shots and photographers on it. Both the discount code and that guy's number sit in her messages as promised. She'd seemed certain Max could get some use out of it. Remembering the Everyday Heroes contest she'd spoken about with Nathan, she wonders if things might have turned out differently for her if she'd just taken a chance and turned in an entry. Progress wouldn't be made by sitting around waiting for something to happen, and it's this thought she turns over in her mind as she taps the _create account_ button and digs out her debit card from her wallet.

\--

Max can smell him before she sees him. 

On her way to work on Monday, her usual light rail compartment is emptier than usual; she's running late that morning. The stench of sour vomit and stale whiskey breath wafts over, and something else—some sickly sweet body product that roils her stomach. She pulls out her ear buds and looks in alarm at the unfamiliar man who has just taken the seat beside her.

"I've seen you," he tells her.

"What?"

"I've seen you before on this route," he points at the floor, "looking real nice on your way to party. I like to party, too."

She doesn't recognize him. Mid-thirties. His blond hair is oily like it holds several days' worth of hair product. Clothes wrinkled, with the remnants of a paper nightclub bracelet clinging to his hairy wrist. He seems to be drunk from the night before, with bright, bright eyes tinged with bloodshot in the whites.

Her heart leaps in fear when he leans into her and she inches away from him in her seat.

"You should sit somewhere else." Her voice comes out in an angry waver and he smiles. 

He mumbles something unintelligible, voice slurring and thick with drink, and it's then that Max notices he's been fighting. Fresh bruise on his face and an open, wet cut on his forearm. Thin line of red trailing down his wrist. 

"Looking real nice," he says again. "You live on 2nd, yeah?"

The fact that he knows what street she lives on means he _has_ seen her before. Her pulse quickens to double-time, hammering in her throat.

"Leave me alone." Fear hardening her voice. "Fuck off." 

"Come on. Don't be like that," he coaxes. When he leans farther in she leaps from her seat, clutching her tote purse. With surprising alacrity he lunges forward and his fingers close around her blouse before she can move away in time.

"Let go of me!"

They struggle and she hears ripping fabric as he yanks her back towards him in a violent motion. She manages to thrust the heel of her palm up into his chin and he doesn't seem to feel it. It all happens in a split second. 

There is a resounding crack and the man releases her and lets out a howl. "Mother _fucker_ ," he exclaims, reaching down to grab his leg. 

An elderly man in a tweed cap stands over him with an angry expression, brandishing a hospital-issue metal cane, having just cracked it against her assailant's shin. 

"Who raised you to go about grabbing young women on the train?" 

Max is satisfied to see blood between the drunken man's teeth as he grimaces and clutches his leg; he must have bitten his tongue when she hit him with her palm. The train smooths to a halt and she rushes off when the doors slide open, even as the old man behind her asks if he should call the police. It's not even her stop, but the last thing she wants is for the man to know where she works, too. 

She releases a breath as the light rail continues down the track. Her heart pounds. Looking down at her shirt, she's disgusted to see that it's torn from the hem all the way up her navel. Thankfully the bottom of her bra isn't showing, but there's a bright red stain seeped into the fabric. She remembers the cut on the man's arm, dripping down his wrist. Fingers trembling like dried autumn leaves, she does her best to tuck it into her pencil skirt. There's no time to go back home for a fresh shirt. 

By the time Max makes it to work she's forty minutes late and the adrenaline wearing off makes her feel sick and fatigued. She's hoping to get to the cardigan she'd left on the back of her computer chair and cover up before anyone notices. 

No such luck. Dexter's voice cuts through the quiet office before she's even a few steps through the door. "Oh, my God, Max. What happened?"

Heads snap to attention over their desks. Corrine jumps to her feet. 

"The joys of public transportation. I had a little run-in, but I'm fine."

"Is that blood?" Corrine demands.

"It's not mine."

"What happened?"

Everyone is staring. "A drunk guy grabbed at me, but I got in a good whack."

"Did you call the cops?"

"I got off too quickly, at the wrong stop. By the time I got my bearings he was long gone. That's why I was late." 

She continues to downplay the whole thing. It definitely hadn't been nothing and she's still shaken, but she's starting to falter under all the scrutiny. When she finally manages to get her cardigan from her chair and slip into the bathroom, she steps in front of the mirror. 

Looking at her reflection, it's laughable that she'd thought she could get past everyone without them noticing. Her complexion is practically ashen. Even though she'd tried tucking in her shirt, the ugly jagged edge of the rip is plainly visible, revealing a vertical strip of white stomach. Worst of all are the cranberry-colored blotches, bright and stark against the pale powder blue of the fabric. That blouse had been one of her favorites. She'd found it on clearance at a discount outlet and it was one of the few nice things she wore to work that made her look like an actual adult. 

Pissed off, she rinses and dries her face, crumpling the paper towel as if she can squeeze the life out of it. There aren't any buttons on the cardigan she wraps herself in. She'll hold the front of it closed all day if she has to.

\--

Later, Eliot from HR comes over to her desk and speaks in a quiet, confidential tone that she's sure he learned in his counseling training, like he's trying to calm a spooked horse. He offers her the rest of the day off and his eyes flick surreptitiously to her stomach as if he's expecting to see a gaping wound or something. She's still wrapped stubbornly in the black cardigan, blocking his view. 

The thought of getting back on the train twists her stomach and she assures him that she's perfectly fine to keep working. 

Down at the fountain, Corrine laughs at Max's feigned indifference.

"Seriously, what's with you?" She chews on a red pinky nail. "You come into the office literally covered in blood after an assault and don't even take Eliot's offer for the rest of the day off?"

"'Covered in blood' is such an exaggeration. It's just a few spots." Max is tired of saying it's not a big deal.

"Still, that's so gross. How can you walk around in that shirt? That's like a biohazard. Should have taken the free day. Hell, I wish I had a free day," Corrine continues, "I think I'm still hungover from Friday."

Grateful for the shift in topic, Max says, "Yeah, you looked pretty dead to the world when I left on Saturday morning."

She waves her cigarette. "Dude, you don't even want to know the amount of nonsense I was spewing up all day."

"Memorable, I'm sure."

On her last fifteen-minute break of the day, Max heads into the break room, certain there's a yogurt she'd left in the fridge last week. 

Nathan, slumped in a chair at the corner table, straightens when he sees her, almost as if he's been waiting. His clothes look neat and pressed and she smooths her hair self-consciously.

"I heard that—" he cuts himself off. Tries again. "Are you okay?"

She nods. "Fine. You should see the other guy."

He doesn't smile. His eyes are hardened, dangerous. Jawline tense, like he wants to say something more but doesn't.

Taking a plastic spoon and her yogurt from the refrigerator, she sits across from him. "I'm sure everyone's making it out to be worse than it was," she says. "Some drunk asshole grabbed at my clothes."

"Did you beat the shit out of him?"

Max peels the lid off her yogurt. "I got him pretty good in the face. But this little old man nailed him right in the shin with his cane," she laughs. "He looked so harmless. There was even a tennis ball stuck to the end of his cane. My grandma used to do that with hers."

Nathan still looks like there's a sour taste in his mouth. Unlike everyone else, however, he's not trying to get a glimpse of her ripped blouse. She tries a new topic.

"How did your interview go? I saw you go into Hughes's office earlier."

"It was good. Pretty standard." His eyebrows are pinched like he'd rather be talking about anything else besides this. Max can relate. "Strengths, weaknesses, desire to work with the company. Conflict resolution tactics. Et cetera."

One of the their coworkers from Suite F breezes in, her high ponytail swishing behind her. "Nathan, the front desk just called up. There's a man downstairs asking about you? They don't recognize him."

He rises swiftly from his chair. "I'm coming down. _Don't_ send him up." The girl twitches slightly at his forceful tone but gives him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. He disappears through the same door. 

\--

At closing time Max stands in the elevator at the end of the hallway and pretends not to notice everyone giving her the side-eye. The door begins to slide shut but a pale hand wraps around it at the last second and Nathan pushes his way in. 

They reach the ground floor. Before she can get too far he catches up to her at the glass doors. 

"Are you doing anything right now?" he asks. 

"No. Why?"

"I could use a favor. I've been dog-sitting for my friends for a couple nights and I'm supposed to be taking him home now. The thing is, he doesn't do so well in the car. He's got travel anxiety, and I can't be of much help while I'm behind the wheel. Would you be down to ride along and give him some attention?"

"Oh." Max has been dreading having to get back on the train all day and probably would have said yes if he'd asked her to go perform a ritual sacrifice if it meant she'd get to ride safely in a car. "That sounds fun, I like dogs."

"I'm not so good with them myself," he admits on their way out of the building. "We were never allowed to have pets growing up."

"They're so easy to get along with, though."

"He is pretty lovable. Kristine's with him right now but she's waiting for me to get home so she can leave. You know Scot over in F? It's him and his girlfriend's dog." 

By now they've reached his car in the parking garage on the corner of the street. Her cardigan falls open as she climbs in and Nathan's demeanor changes again. 

"Why don't we stop by your place first so you can change," he says after a beat of silence. 

She nods even though his attention is now hyperfocused on reversing out of his parking spot. "Sure," she says mechanically, pulling at her sweater to cover the puckered fabric and the red stain.   
  
\--

Max assumes Nathan's going to wait in the car while she runs upstairs but he cuts the engine and opens his door, not waiting for an invitation. 

Her cheeks burn at the state of her apartment when she throws the door open with more force than necessary. Shoes kicked off under the ring-stained coffee table, breakfast dishes still sitting on the windowsill, polaroids tacked up onto the wall like a serial killer map. 

"A studio, huh?" he remarks, glancing around, his eyes falling to her bed in the corner of the room. Books and clothes are piled on the left side of the mattress, clearly spelling out the state of her personal life. 

"Yeah. More reasonably priced than the one-bedrooms," she answers, for lack of anything better to say.

She plunges forward like a bulldozer to the trunk at the foot of her bed, rummaging through it for jeans and a t-shirt. The sooner they can leave, the better.

Closing the bathroom door behind her to change clothes, she lets out a nervous gust of air. She used to keep things so tidy. What happened? Ripping off the ruined blouse in record time, she slings it over the shower rod. At least there's some color back in her face. 

"Ready," she says as she comes out. 

Nathan is standing by her polaroid wall, glued to the collage of white-bordered squares. 

"This one's from our trip." He points at the photo of the misty trees on the horizon, the one she'd taken at the gas station. 

"Yeah, didn't turn out too bad." 

He keeps looking at the photos and she's dying to know what he's thinking. On their way out, Nathan speaks up. "I still can't believe they didn't give you the day off."

"They did, but I opted to stay."

"Why?" He sounds a bit incredulous. 

She squirms but answers honestly. "I was too freaked to get back on the train. I didn't want to run into him again."

They reach his car again and he looks unhappy with her reply. 

"The guy said he'd seen me before. He even knew what street I lived on."

" _What?_ "

"I'm going to get some pepper spray." Max laughs when she says it but she's perfectly serious.

He's livid. White knuckles on the steering wheel. "Have you seen him before?"

"Never."

"Get the pepper spray. Fucked up that you even have to, but it's a good precaution."

Silence stretches between them in the car on the way to Nathan's apartment. 

"You're pretty quiet," she says.

He fiddles with the radio. "It's been a weird day."

"You're telling me." 

Before she can marvel at how she ended up at Nathan's for a third time, Kristine jumps from the couch the moment they walk through the door. 

"Finally," says Kristine. "I thought you were going to be home a half hour ago." She snatches a red backpack from an armchair and fishes her shoes out from under the couch. The room smells a little ripe, like stale air, smoke, and weird cooking smells. Kristine has dug herself a nest on the couch with blankets and the coffee table is covered with dishes and napkin scribblings and half-empty incense packets and mail ripped into. Max can see why Nathan's being driven crazy. He stalks over to the window and throws it open. 

"Did Paul get hold of you today?" Kristine asks.

"Just _text_ me, okay," he snaps.

"You're in a great mood."

"Maybe if you didn't leave all your shit everywhere." He grabs the garbage can from the kitchen and starts to sweep his arm across the the trash on the table.

"Where am I supposed to put it? Don't throw that out!" 

"Then clean it up!"

"Whatever. I'm late anyway. Text me when you're done throwing your pissy fit."

The door shuts loudly behind her and Max hears the jingling of dog tags. 

"Hey there, buddy," she says. A dog with bristly brown and white fur skitters over to Max at the first hint of attention. He's on the smaller side, probably some kind of terrier mix, and she gets down on the floor to scratch his ears as his tail wagging descends into a full-body wiggle. "What's his name?"

"Samson." Items thump to the bottom of the trash can as he resumes tossing away Kristine's mess.

"You are just the cutest," Max says as the dog rolls belly-up.

Nathan snatches up a ball of laundry from the floor and carries it into the bathroom. "We should get going." Gathering up the dog's things—leash, pretzel chew toy, food bowl—he reaches down to give Samson an awkward pat on the head.

Downstairs, Max is suspicious when the dog jumps happily into the backseat and turns in three circles before settling on the towel Nathan had spread out, but she doesn't say anything.

"Maybe I'd better sit back here," she says.

"Hm?"

"You know. To comfort him."

"Right, yeah." 

Traffic is pretty heavy and they're stuck for a while on the same street. "How long is Kristine supposed to be staying with you?"

"Not much longer. Hard to say." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "Is he okay back there?"

"Yeah. He's doing great, actually." Samson had his tongue out and was basking in all of the ear scratches Max was giving him. "Kristine seems like she's a little hard to live with. You guys have pretty opposite habits."

"She and I were much better friends when we were kids. Back when I still looked up to her. I don't know what happened."

"Most adult siblings don't have to share such close quarters, so it makes sense that things are strained." Max is shamelessly fishing for more answers about her, but he keeps shutting down the topic. Samson puts his two front paws on the window and barks at a couple of birds perched on a street sign at a red light. 

"You know," says Max, leaning forward with her elbows on the front seats, "I'm starting to think this dog doesn't have travel anxiety at all."

He glances over at her. "I guess he just really likes you."

Max rolls her eyes.

\--

Max isn't sure how long she's been trying to sleep. An hour? Three? A strip of yellow light settles on the opposite wall from the streetlight outside. It had rained earlier. She can hear the drip drip from the still-wet oak tree outside. 

Her plaintive text to Corrine went unanswered; unsurprising, as Corrine is never awake this time of night. 

Quiet clicking of the water heater, swish of occasional car tires. Crickets. The refrigerator cycles on and hums persistently. Itchy and restless, she can't sit in the bed any longer and swings her legs over the side, looking for something to do.

Successfully locating her laundry swipe card at the bottom of the hamper, she sorts her dirty clothes into piles for tomorrow. She checks her phone. Only nine minutes have passed. She's starting to see why some people take up smoking. She finds a pack's worth of foil gum wrappers at the bottom of her purse and she sits in front of the television folding them into an interlocking chain. Seventeen more minutes pass. 

There's a couple dollars in her change jar on the kitchen counter and she fills the pocket of her hoodie and puts on a pair of jeans from the laundry pile. It's a warm night, smelling of wet asphalt and frying oil from the restaurant across the street. Max walks to the twenty-four hour corner store. The fluorescent light from the sign above the door stretches into long reflections in the leftover rain puddles. 

The owner, a Korean man in a flannel shirt, watches videos on his phone behind the counter and gives her a brief glance as she roams the store. She buys a box of shortbread cookies, a pack of Starburst, and a six dollar bottle of wine, meticulously counting out her dimes and quarters. The rest of it goes on her card. The paper bag crinkles as he wraps the bottle.

Max doesn't usually drink alone, but the promise of sleep shimmers hopeful in the bottom of a glass or two. She had learned her lesson the hard way not to try cheap vodka to get more for her money. The cheap wine might taste sour but she could at least avoid the sugar headache the next morning. Plus she didn't have to spend more money on a mixer to go with it. 

At home she rips into the Starburst, setting to work on the wrappers to add some color to the gum wrapper chain, whatever she can do to keep her fingers busy. Sipping wine out of the bottle, she glances up at her polaroid wall and thinks about what Victoria said about making more collages and trying to sell them. Right away she can see patterns in the colors and places, photos that would look good with each other in a set. 

She pulls down the really good shots, ones that she would be sorry to lose but is willing to part with if it means cash in her pocket. There's another stack in her bedside drawer and she drops them in a pile on the floor, sorting them into aesthetic groups. An hour passes and soon she has several series based on colors. One for trees, another for bars and nightclubs, and one for empty streets and vacant late-night restaurants. She'd taken a lot of photos around the city. All she needs now is to arrange them either inside frames or on a backdrop. Maybe try stringing some up clothesline-style. It isn't much, but it's a start. 

\--

 **Nathan:** _are u dressed yet? come downstairs_

Max stares at her phone in confusion. It's early the next morning and there's no reason for him to be texting her. _He_ doesn't have to bother with catching public transportation so she can't fathom why he would be up so early and outside of her apartment. 

**Max:** _Wth are you talking about? We have work_  
**Nathan:** _obviously. Im buying everybody coffee and i need an extra pair of hands to carry it up_  
**Max:** _There's coffee at the office_  
**Nathan:** _yeah but not mochas and chai lattes_  
**Max:** _I refuse to believe you've ever had a chai latte_  
**Nathan:** _u don't know my life_  
**Max:** _Name one time_  
**Nathan:** _no_  
**Max:** _Keeping your guilty pleasures a secret huh?_  
**Nathan:** _holy shit caulfield just hurry up_

\--

They have five minutes until closing when Nathan comes out of the break room and over to Max. He crosses his arms and leans against her desk. She's reminded of when he used to come into Jefferson's class early and sit on her desk to annoy her.

"Can I help you?"

"So. Are you going to make me come up with some bullshit excuse to get you into the car or will you just agree to let me drive you home?"

She feels a smile creeping on. "You act like this isn't the first time you've asked me."

"If I had asked you yesterday to start carpooling with me would you honestly have said yes?"

"No. Tell me why you want to drive me so badly."

"Just trying to keep the playing field even. I can't beat you fair and square in the interviews if you're killed in an assault on the train, can I?"

Laughter spills out of her and she starts shutting down her computer. He looks pleased with himself and she can't help but add, "So when _I_ win the position, what then?"

"Don't worry, your ass is back on the train," he deadpans. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pacing has been admittedly pretty slow so far. it picks up in the next chapter.
> 
> next update friday 18 dec  
> EDIT: update postponed to sunday 20 dec!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my computer is still a work in progress! when it's finally finished i'll be able to play ALL the games >:)  
> hope you enjoy

Max's interview goes well. So well, in fact, that she wishes she hadn't worried about it so obsessively. Like most things in life, the anticipation proved worse than the deed itself.

"I don't want you three temps to worry about those outside candidates corporate brought in. Just between us?" Mr. Hughes had said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "I'm looking to hire internally for this position." 

At lunch Lucia corners Max downstairs at the fountain and for one horrible second Max thinks she wants to talk about the interviews. 

"So what's your angle with Prescott?" Lucia asks. 

"I'm not sure what you mean."

She waves her hand in a circle. "Are you trying to date him or just sleep with him?"

Max chokes a bit on the fruit cup she'd brought down with her. "Neither! Geez."

"Please, he's driving you to work and back _every_ day. What's the point of the whole, 'I'm too scared to take the train by myself' bit, then? Wish I'd thought of something like that first."

"That's not it." A ripple of sharp anger bites at her. "I'm not afraid. He just offered."

Technically she had been afraid to ride the train, but she doesn't want it broadcasted to the office.

"You don't have to get defensive. I'm only trying to figure out what my chances are here. This boy is so hot and cold, you know?"

"I really don't."

"One minute I'll be flirting and he'll be all into it, giving it right back to me and then all of a sudden, _boom_. Brick wall." She pauses, waiting for a response. "So you're saying you're not into him at all."

"Right."

"Cause normally I don't need any help in this arena, but God, every time I think I'm getting somewhere there he is, talking with you at the all-staff or waiting for you to walk to the elevator. I could really use a line or two, like your photography thing."

"My thing?" she echoes. 

"Yeah, your aspiring photography thing."

"How do you know about that?"

Lucia's body language has turned fluid at Max's disinterest in Nathan, and she rifles through her handbag, oblivious to Max's alarm.

"Oh, I asked what exactly you two talk about, cause you didn't really seem like his type, and he mentioned the pictures you take and how you're both like, trying to make money off it." She scrolls her phone.

"I can't help you, okay?" Her tone comes out stiff, not that Lucia seems to notice. 

"Whatever." She's already walking away with her phone in her face and Max contemplates throwing her spoon at her retreating back.

By the time Corrine finally comes down Max has worked herself up into a fury.

"I've been on the phone with this ad agency for two literal hours," Corrine complains, collapsing onto the fountain next to Max. "Apparently they only got half their shipment. I don't know what they expect me to do besides refund them. We shipped the correct order. I can't control the post office. Assholes."

She lights a cigarette and goes on to describe her phone call with punctuated gestures.

"Max, hello. Max."

"What?"

"I said, is that bullshit or what?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"What's the matter?"

"Where does Nathan get off telling Lucia all this stuff about me?" she spits. 

"I missed something."

" _Lucia_."

"Okay, what about her?"

"She was just down here. Asking me all these questions about Nathan, and if I was trying to hook up with him. Asking me what my 'angle' was and acting like my every move was some big web of lies and ulterior motives to get him to sleep with me."

Corrine's eyes grow big. "You're kidding."

"We don't even spend that much time together!"

"I mean..."

"Don't finish that sentence." She points at her with her spoon. 

"That's the type of person Lucia is, though. She uses people so she assumes everyone else does too. You think she cuddles up to Hughes because of his sparkling wit and personality?" 

"And apparently Nathan was more than happy to fill her in about my photography and driving me to work and shit. She made it all sound so stupid."

"What does that matter that he talked about your photography? Don't give me that look. If you wanna hate 'em that's no problem with me, we'll hate 'em. I just don't get it."

"It's none of her business!"

Corrine takes a drag, looking thoughtful. "Is that really what you're mad about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Lucia comes here, talking down to you, letting you know she's into him...fishing for how you feel about him...get what I'm saying?"

"I sure as hell don't care who she's got her eye on. In fact, my condolences."

"Okay." She sounds resigned, shrugging her shoulders and grinding her cigarette out on the side of the fountain. 

"If there's something else, just say it."

"No, no, you seem like you've got a handle on things."

\--

At the end of the day, Max lingers in the break room.

"You ready to go?" she hears behind her.

She straightens and shuts the refrigerator door. "No. I'm taking the train."

Nathan's eyebrows raise. "This again?" His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and he's holding a takeout iced coffee from down the street that he must have snuck on his last break. Through the glass window everybody is packing up and shutting down their computers. "You know I was making a joke the other day. I'll still drive you even though the interviews are done with."

"No, thanks. I'm done being your _pity_ case."

"You're not a pity case, where would you get that from?"

"Forget it," she snaps. "And do me a favor. Next time you're flirting with Lucia, keep my name out of your conversation."

He sets down his cup and has the audacity to look amused. "Sounds like you had an interesting day."

"Yeah, I especially loved the part where Lucia accosted me at lunch and spewed all this crap about my personal life that she has no business knowing." 

"You're mad I've been talking to Lucia," he clarifies, moving a step closer.

Max crosses her arms. "I'm mad that you've been talking to her about _me_."

"And what else did she happen to say?"

"Just ask her yourself since you two are such great friends."

The corners of his mouth lift almost imperceptibly and she sees some unnamed emotion stir in his eyes. If she doesn't know better she'd say he looks satisfied. 

"Can't you get that stupid grin off your face for three seconds? I don't get why everything is always so hilarious to you."

"Don't talk to Lucia and don't smile. Check." 

"Flirt with whoever you want, I don't care, but leave me out of it."

"She asked a few questions, that's all. I didn't exactly give her your life story."

"It was enough!"

"Wow, she must have really said some horrible things to make you this mad."

"I'm _not_ mad."

He makes a noise of uncertainty and steps out from behind the table. By now the rest of the office has cleared out. 

"I'm not," she reiterates.

"You sure you don't want to tell me?" He steps closer. "It seems pretty serious. Maybe I _will_ ask her myself. Maybe I should offer her a ride home instead. I'll bet she'd tell me the whole conversation."

She feels her face burn. 

"Sounds great! I'll bet she would. In fact, I am _so_ sure—"

He bends down and his lips meet hers in a surprisingly deft motion. She can't be certain but she thinks she feels him sigh and his mouth is cool from the ice in his drink. She's obviously been kissed before but this one is in no way comparable to any of those. This isn't a hesitant first date _can-I-kiss-you?_ thing or a leisurely Sunday brunch kiss. There's something honest and bare about it, like all the layers between them have been stripped off like bedsheets. He absolutely knows what he's doing and moves his lips in just the right way and manages to employ a bit of teeth when he bites her bottom lip—subtle and reflective of his personality. It's all she can do to remember how to move her own mouth. She isn't sure what to do with her hands and they hover in the air until she reaches and her fingers close around the fabric nearest to her. She can feel the outline of his shoulders underneath his shirt. It isn't until he properly takes hold of her and she feels his hand splay across the back of her neck and the other wrap around her waist like a coil does the full force of what's happening hit her. When she arches away from him sharply his mouth smears down her neck for a tantalizing instant. 

"What the fuck," she blurts out and he releases her like a hot iron. "What are you _doing_?" She doesn't mean it to come out with quite so much contempt but she's astonished at why Nathan Prescott would ever think to kiss her.

His gaze is bright and the collar of his shirt askew. He looks a little lit up, especially with his hair out of place like fingers had previously tangled through it. 

Not her fingers, surely. 

"What am I..." he repeats. "Seriously?" Max doesn't answer and he straightens and lets out a gust of air. "Wow. I haven't read a situation this incorrectly since, well, ever I guess."

The silence is gaping. 

She wills herself to say something, anything.

"Sorry for the colossal miscalculation. I'll be fucking off for good now," he says. 

Still unable to think of what to say, she watches him make good on his word and disappear through the door to suite F, leaving Max with nothing but the ticking of the clock and the faint smell of soap or deodorant or whatever he was wearing. She still feels him on her lips.

"Whoa," Corrine says as she comes into the break room with an empty teacup. "What happened to you?"

\--

Max thinks about it for hours. An embarrassing number of hours. The problem is that she's pretty sure she'd _liked_ it. A lot, in fact. She'd kissed him right back. Thinking about it, he'd only grabbed her so fiercely and stepped it up a couple notches after she'd responded so positively. It didn't help that the next day at work whenever it was on her mind Corrine always seemed to notice and would say things like, "You look like you're having some truly pornographic thoughts there, sis." 

The words are a neon sign flickering in her mind: _I kissed him and it was hot!!_ It's right there on her lips, ready to slip out at any moment. She's dying to talk this out with somebody but she's hesitant to tell Corrine. The gossip is too sweet to keep a secret. She doesn't want to make the same mistake twice.

\--

She doesn't realize how much Nathan had been seeking her out until he stops.

The texts stop and she doesn't see him in the elevator or the break room anymore. She wonders if he's actively avoiding her. It's probably for the better. She wouldn't know what to say to him. 

Max sells her first polaroid collage. And then another. And another, making enough money to cover what she'd already spent on the app so far. She buys more film and spends the weekend with Corrine and Dexter, taking photos all over the city and immediately listing more. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in her apartment surrounded by piles of new frames and craft glue and snapshots, she pours more creative energy into her project than she has in a long time.

It's a good distraction, but on Monday when she finally runs into Nathan in the crowded break room she isn't prepared for the shot of heat, fast and sharp, that pulses between them when they lock eyes across the room. He's holding a steaming mug and the coffee maker lets out a pop and a hiss of steam. 

The sideways glance he gives her is arrogant. He raises an eyebrow with a face that says _I dare you._ She's not going to let him intimidate her so she approaches the counter and opens the cupboard for her favorite mug—the Garfield one, but it isn't there. Nathan pretends not to look at her and surreptitiously rotates his drink a fraction so she can see that he's stolen it. She takes the Calvin and Hobbes mug instead without missing a beat. 

She reaches for a sugar packet and he slides the bowl away from her at the last second, her fingers closing over air as he makes a show of ripping one open to pour into his coffee. 

He doesn't take sugar in his coffee. She knows he drinks it black but she waits for him to finish anyway, like she's got all the time in the world. His stupid game isn't going to get under her skin. 

When he relinquishes the sugar bowl with a flourish she gives him a sarcastic, tight-lipped smile and helps herself. The tension thickens and he leans back against the counter and finishes his drink in a long luxurious swallow. It's her turn to pretend she's not glancing at the line of his throat. 

As if sensing her resolve to ignore his antics he takes it one step further and reaches behind her to place the empty mug in the sink, leaning in entirely too close, his breath sweeping against her neck in the slightest whisper. She can feel his warmth and smell the soap from his shower that morning and she feels a shivery thrill creep up her spine in that split second he leans against her. 

Max isn't sure what makes her do it except the desire to disarm him the way he's so hellbent on doing to her. She places a feather-light hand on his upper arm, crisp fabric under her fingers, and he freezes. Picking an invisible piece of lint off the collar of his shirt, she accidentally-on-purpose lets her fingers brush against his neck and tilts her chin up to look him in the eyes. 

It isn't the most daring move, but it hits the mark. His breath catches and when he finishes setting his mug down and pushes off the counter, she can see goosebumps on his forearms. He swallows hard, straightens his tie, and joins a couple of accountants on the other side of the room, their conversation lost in the buzz of the break room.

Apparently Corrine has been sitting at the table the whole time, because she gives a low whistle, snapping Max out of her trance of flustered success. 

"Okay, that? Whatever that was. Was fucking hot. Like even I'm a little attracted to you right now." 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Max says, even though her cheeks catch fire. 

\--

"So, you've kissed lots of guys, right?" 

Corrine sets down her phone with glee, giving her full attention to Max. "Oh, I am _loving_ this already. I have indeed, dear Max. Do continue."

"I need you to promise that this stays between us. I'm serious."

"Definitely."

"Not even Dexter."

"Not even Dexter. 

"Nathan and I kissed. At work, of all places." 

The little shriek Corrine lets out causes the man sitting a couple rows in front of them on the light rail to turn and look at them briefly. 

"With the way you two have been carrying on I wouldn't be surprised if you'd boned in the supply closet." They're approaching Max's stop and Corrine drops her phone into her black purse. "Who initiated it?"

"He did. But I mean, I kissed him back."

"Of course you did." She stuffs a stick of cinnamon gum into her mouth and shakes the pack at Max, who takes one and watches the trees pass outside the window. "It's been kind of obvious. Even Arthur came around one day fishing for your status."

"Who?"

"Accountant over in F."

"Oh, right. Him. Seriously? What for?"

"He wanted to ask you out but couldn't figure if you were seeing someone. And by 'someone' it was pretty clear he meant Prescott."

Max shakes her head. "Well anyway, I've been so wigged about this, I don't know where to go from here. I freaked out on him and now we've been avoiding each other."

The train lurches to a stop and they climb off. 

"You sure seemed to know what you were doing yesterday." 

"Not at all. I thought for sure he was going to laugh at me!"

"He's way too far gone to laugh at you."

"You don't know that."

As they walk Corrine shrugs off her denim jacket and ties it around her waist with some difficulty. "It was cold this morning and now it's so fucking hot." Her gum pops and she wipes the back of her neck. 

They reach Max's building and Corrine holds the door open for her. 

"I'm open to suggestions here. Hang on, I have to get the mail."

"Don't ask me, I'm an old cynic. Definitely not the person to ask for relationship shit. I can't even pick out a tattoo I'm willing to have for the rest of my life. The commitment is too much."

"You're no help at all."

"No, but I thoroughly love hearing the gossip. Kiss him again, I guess?"

"So you have something to listen about."

"Exactly."

They trudge up the stairs to her apartment. Corrine flops to the couch and picks up the remote, boots on the coffee table. 

"You look like you could use a drink," Corrine says while Max flips through the stack of envelopes and junk mail.

"I have wine."

"Gross. Anything else?"

"No."

"Damn. Oh, go on then."

Before Max can get two cups from the kitchen she spots a letter from her landlord and tears it open. It's a courtesy notice that the building's owners are having the oak tree taken out in a couple of weeks. _Landscapers will start at six a.m. Saturday, we apologize in advance for the noise and any inconvenience._

"Shit."

"What's wrong?"

"They're cutting down my tree. The roots are causing damage to the foundation."

"Which one?"

"The one outside my window."

"And..."

"I don't know. I like it. I photograph the birds in it."

"That's life, I guess. Got those drinks yet?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy crimus, merry chrysler


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @dawllick on tumblr drew ART for the last chapter and i was so excited i could barely contain myself, you can see it [+here!](https://dawllick.tumblr.com/post/638244173417496576/fanart-for-a-fic-by-wasteland-frenzy-yeah)

* * *

The art gallery that Max goes to with Victoria is in the Pearl District, not too far from Vic's place. The featured exhibit is a modern art display, everything repurposed "junk"—glittering trees made of broken glass, wires twisted and soldered with precision to form lightning bolts. Max wasn't familiar with the artist, but Victoria seemed to really like him. In her words, "The concept is old but he does a great job putting his own spin on it."

Afterwards they stop to get food and split a plate of mini chimis and wait for the minutes to pass into happy hour, drink menus at the ready.

Victoria dunks a chip in guacamole. "Do you like lime?" 

"Yeah."

"Get the mojito. Trust me, they're killer. What did you think of that exhibit?"

"It was okay. I'm more partial to photography, I think." She crunches a chip and traces the letters on her menu. A two-man set begins to play, a sax and a steel-stringed guitar, the corner illuminated by the neon sombrero and tequila signs hanging up.

"We'll go see some photos next time, there's supposed to be some really good stuff this month." 

She's right, the mojitos are excellent and Max is halfway through her second one when she checks the notification on her phone letting her know she's just sold another one of her polaroid collages. "I can't thank you enough for getting me on that app. I'm actually making money on my polaroids."

"These are fucking amazing," says Victoria, scrolling on Max's store page. "How many have you sold so far?"

"Seven. I had to go out and buy more instant film. Can't remember the last time I got to do that, I've been stuck using my digital for a long time." She chews on the sprig of mint in her empty glass, stirring the leftover ice with her straw.

"I knew they'd take off right away. Hey, can we get another round here?" she says to the server.

"Oh, no, I'm good."

"Seriously, it's on me. If you weren't here I would've had to go to that exhibit by myself. Nathan was supposed to come with but he ducked out at the last minute."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he's been weird lately. But I'm guessing that has something to do with you."

"I doubt it."

"So we're not going to talk about you guys hooking up?"

A glob of guacamole lands on Max's shirt. "He _told_ you?"

"No. Corrine did."

"You've got to be shitting me."

"She mentioned she wasn't supposed to say anything. She also said I didn't count because I don't work with the rest of you at Precision.

"I mean, better you than Dexter. But still! God."

Their drinks arrive and Max immediately downs a third of it. 

"Don't be too hard on her," says Victoria. "It's an unspoken rule that you get to tell secrets to the person you're screwing."

"Wait. You and...Corrine?"

"A few times now." She blinks in surprise. "I thought you knew."

"She hasn't said anything. I knew you two had been hanging out more, but I honestly had no idea. When did that start?"

"At her birthday party. She really didn't mention anything to you?" 

Max tells her no and it occurs to her that Victoria's feelings might be hurt. Before she can think of what to say, however, Victoria has already moved on and steered the conversation back to the original topic.

"We don't have to talk about you and Nathan if you don't want to. But I know he's in a weird place and I thought you might be too. I do know him pretty well, you know."

Max buries her face in her hands. "I don't know what's going on. Usually a kiss doesn't require this much analysis. It was so out of nowhere, but Corrine says it wasn't to everyone else, and now we're not even speaking."

"Slow down, listen to the chill music, and take a breath," Victoria laughs. "Start with the basics. Did you like it?"

She answers, "Yes, he's a fuck-good kisser, but that's not the point," to which Victoria sprays her drink laughing.

"Then what is?"

"The point is I'm conflicted. It never occurred to me to just start making out with him in the break room. We were in the middle of an argument."

"Now we're getting somewhere. What about?"

By the time Max is finished telling her about Lucia, they've polished off their drinks and paid the tab, heading out into the dark.

"Come back with me for a while. I'm just around the corner." Victoria links her arm through Max's, floral perfume wafting over. "Now, about Lucia. She wasn't oblivious, she knew exactly what she was doing. She was trying to shake you up."

"The way she was talking...I mean, she was on her phone half the time, barely paying attention."

"Uh-huh." Victoria sounds unconvinced. "Sure. I've done the bitchy girl thing enough times to recognize the act when I see it. She's threatened by you, which is why she made it a point to let you know he was flirting with her. Which, by the way, is easily disputable given the source. Not only are you getting all of Nathan's attention, but aren't you and her going out for the same position at work?"

"I _had_ all Nathan's attention," she corrects. 

"Oh, please. Things haven't changed as much as you think they have. You're one angsty smolder from it happening all over again."

Once home, Victoria sits in the living room and kicks off her flats. Taking a joint out of her cigarette case, she holds it away from her and lights it, offering it to Max who shakes her head no. "Say what you will about Kristine," says Vic, holding in a lungful of smoke, "she has the best weed in the whole city. I think it's the only reason Nathan hasn't completely lost his mind yet. So anyway. Back to this argument."

"We argue all the time. One minute everything's fine and then the next I want to tear his head off. And this last one was intense. Like, I could see myself saying these irrational things and I couldn't stop. It felt like I was possessed or something."

"Yeah, jealousy does that."

"I wouldn't say jealous."

"I would!"

Max curls her legs up into the armchair she's sitting in, and Victoria cringes and motions for her to take off her shoes first. "You don't have a whole lot of experience with this sort of thing, do you? That's no problem. Just look at it from his point of view." Victoria licks her finger and dabs the joint where it's beginning to burn unevenly. "You come at him foaming at the mouth about this other woman, which is the green light he's been waiting for. If you're that jealous then you're obviously feeling _something_ for him, even if it's only attraction."

"God, I'm such an idiot. Corrine was even hinting at this and I still didn't get it."

"You are not an idiot. You're just not used to feeling attracted to someone who pisses you off so consistently. I'm sure you've heard this before, but love and hate tend to straddle the same line. Not that you hate him, but you get what I mean. Take a look at your past relationships. Anything ever come close to this?"

"Not at all."

"Didn't think so. You were always good friends with them first before you ventured into dating, right? This dynamic is totally different, which is why you're so thrown, and why Nathan is off licking his wounds. He's _embarrassed_ , and Nathan doesn't do embarrassed very well, being so sensitive to rejection. But don't worry. It'll work out okay no matter what you decide your next step is. Don't overthink it."

"You're quite the font of information."

"When it comes to jealousy, territorial girls, or Nathan Prescott I am. And you, my friend, happened to hit the trifecta here."

\--

The next morning Max jolts awake to four loud thumps against the door, confused to find herself in Victoria's living room, sideways in the big armchair with her legs thrown over the arm of it. They'd stayed up late talking and she doesn't remember falling asleep. The knocking continues and she pulls the door open to find Kristine. 

"Max, hey. Is she here?" Kristine ducks her head around to see past.

"Vic?" Max calls into the apartment, rubbing her eye with a yawn. She wanders down the hall. Victoria's bedroom and bathroom door are open. In the living room she finds a note on the coffee table in loopy script: _Had to run, didn't want to wake you._ "I guess she's not here."

"Damn. She didn't answer my texts and I figured she'd be home," Kristine says. "Oh, well." She drops onto the sofa and roots through the ashtray, poking at the leftover joint stub for something usable. Her blue sports bra is visible beneath the straps of her tank top. "Girl's night, huh?"

"Something like that. Sorry, I don't know when she'll be back."

"No worries. I won't linger. What are you up to on this fine Sunday morning?"

"Nothing, I was just going to go home."

"Surely we can find something better than that." She looks up from the ashtray. "Hey, you have a license, right?"

"Driver's license? Yeah. But I don't have a car."

"No worries," she says again. "I'm borrowing my friend's car for the day. You up for taking a drive? Nathan and Victoria are always going on about you and we haven't gotten to hang out yet."

"Oh, where do you want to go?" She resists the urge to ask what specifically Nathan said about her.

"Just dropping something off real quick. I could use the company. We could hit a drive-through or something afterwards, get some breakfast sandwiches."

"That sounds cool. Let me just wake up a bit more and use the bathroom."

"Take your time! I'll be downstairs."

Still in the same clothes from yesterday, Max considers going through Victoria's closet but decides against it. All of her clothes are designer and she'd probably spill food on them or something. 

Downstairs, Kristine leans against the building next to a No Smoking sign with a cigarette in a sloping posture reminiscent of Nathan. It's one of the only similarities Max has seen between the two of them so far. 

A white compact car with a crushed bumper sits at the end of the block. Kristine spins the keys around her finger. "Thing is, I'm not technically supposed to be driving—no license and all. Are you cool with driving us?" 

"Uh, sure. I guess." She wonders what kind of person would loan their car to someone who didn't have a license. 

"Sweet." She tosses the keys over and Max almost drops them. "Appreciate it, man."

\--

It's been a while since Max has driven and she'd forgotten how much she enjoys it. The last time was during her move to Portland. Her dad had let her drive on the highway a little bit, the bed of his pickup stuffed with cardboard boxes, Max's entire life packed and labeled. Yellow and forest green bleeding together in a rush outside the windows and her fingers orange with Cheetos from the rest stop gas station.

She and Kristine have been on the road for twenty minutes when Max asks again where this friend of hers lives.

"Sorry, it's kind of a ways out. But it won't take long. You won't even have to turn off the car," she promises. She pulls a leg up into her seat and taps her screen to change the song playing. 

"All of your music is really good. I've never heard most of it."

"You should come by sometime and I'll put it all on your phone, I'll hook you up."

Max doesn't mention that she probably won't be welcome at Nathan's anytime soon, but the sentiment is still nice. 

The aux cord cuts out and Kristine adjusts it, tucking it under her phone. "Piece of shit. It's better driving with Nathan, _his_ car has bluetooth. I hate being in the car without music. I hate doing anything without music, really."

They're well outside of the city by now, commercial buildings giving way to low-slung houses and dandelion fields. At Kristine's feet sits a red backpack and Max glimpses a notebook cover scribbled with sketches and stamps sticking out through the open zipper.

"Hey, do you journal too?" She motions to the bag.

"Yeah, for a long time now."

"It looks a lot like mine. I used to keep one in school."

"I love writing. Before I was old enough to travel it was the only thing keeping me half-sane. Sometimes I just feel like crawling out of my skin and it helps to put things into words."

Kristine lights a cigarette; she's a chainsmoker, worse than both Corrine and Vic combined. Max is sure her clothes are going to reek by the time they're finished. 

"I'm sure Nate's told you about our wonderful upbringing."

"A little."

"Well, let me tell you, it was some Kennedy-esque nightmare. Our mother made me take actual _etiquette_ lessons. Private school with French, Latin, piano, and ballet apparently wasn't enough. I would get home and have to do that whole shit with a book on your head. And then those terrible 'coming out' balls at the country club with the white dresses, being paraded around like livestock at an auction." 

She takes a deep pull off her cigarette and leans her elbow against the door. "The first night I came home so blind drunk I stumbled over my own feet and chipped a tooth on the edge of the bathroom sink. I got sent to therapy and he gave me a journal and told me to write down the things that made me angry. I moved on to writing other things and filled the whole book. Then three more after that."

"Do you talk to your parents anymore?"

"Holidays sometimes. They're not really interested in me these days. Or Nathan either. He tries to play it off like it doesn't bother him but he's always cared what they thought more than me. He's the baby, after all."

"If you like it so much, did you ever consider writing professionally?"

"Lots of times. I used to read poems and personal essays at open mic nights. I'm too much of a mess right now to consider anything beyond that. What sorts of things did you like to write about? Turn right up here."

Max turns onto a street with a long line of mobile homes. Kristine throws her cigarette out the window, a habit that Max absolutely hates.

"Mostly just teen angst stuff," says Max in answer to her question. "Trying to fit in and keep up with my classes. Occasionally about how bitchy Nathan and Victoria were to me."

Kristine laughs. "Man, I like you. You've got this serene energy that's so calming. Super laid-back. Oh, here we are. Pull up in front."

The entire neighborhood looks run-down, but this house is worse than all of them. Weeds tangle out of control around the low chain link fence and the carport looks ready to fall over, covering an assortment of rotted-out furniture, car tires, and metal barrels. Bright rust streaks down from the roof. Cardboard in all the windows. If not for the flea-bitten German Shepherd tied to a post near the front door, Max wouldn't think anybody even lived here. 

Kristine, hand on the car door, hesitates and looks over to Max. "So, do you think you could come in with me?"

Taken aback, she looks over at the house. "What for?"

"The thing is, this dude gets real pissy. Thinks he can boss me around. He's mostly blowing smoke but he's irritating to deal with. He's more likely to keep his mouth shut if I'm with somebody."

"I don't know..." The last thing Max wants to do is go inside this sketch-ass trailer to a strange guy with a bad temper. She's starting to feel like she's stepped into something more serious than she originally thought.

"Look." Kristine shifts in her seat to give Max her full attention. "I'm just trying to get this over with. If you're with me it'll make this go faster."

"What are you dropping off again?"

"It's no big deal. I owe him some cash, is all. He's gonna want to bitch about it taking so long, but he'll have to cut it short if there's a guest. It gives me an excuse to leave right away."

Max has completely shut down at the mention of money. "I'd really rather stay out here."

"It's not as big a thing as you're making it out to be. Trust me, it'll take two seconds. He'll behave if there's new company." She opens the car door and swings her legs out, looking back expectantly at Max. "Come on."

Max doesn't move right away, and Kristine leans in the car and shuts off the ignition. "Real quick," she says.

The dog snarls and barks as they pass, straining on the end of his rope. Max sees his water bowl empty and upside-down in the dirt. In other circumstances she would fill it with the water spigot by the carport, but there's no way the dog will let her come close enough to get his dish.

Kristine pounds on the door. Max wipes her palms on her shorts. The dog continues to let out angry, throaty barks and when the door is thrown open a man with short brown hair and bags under his eyes leans out to yell at him. "Bingo, shut the fuck up!"

His arms are covered in scabs and he's missing a fingernail on his right hand. "Aren't you brave finally showing up here?" He notices Max, fixing his sleepy eyes onto her and wrinkling his large forehead, made larger by early hairline recession. He smirks. "Maybe not so brave after all. Another one of your junkie friends?"

"Wouldn't that be fun for you. No, she just drove me here. Are we gonna stand out here all day?" Kristine sneers.

"You're awfully mouthy for someone who's a week late getting my fucking money."

"Well, I have it, you want it or not?"

He steps back and opens the door wider. Max can feel his eyes on her as she steps over the threshold. 

Grit crunches underneath the soles of her shoes and her eyes adjust to the dim. There's hardly any light inside, most of it coming from a massive flatscreen against the wall. 

"Make yourselves at home." He gestures to an old couch.

"We can't stay," Kristine says. 

Shrugging, he settles on the couch slowly, like his knees are creaking. "So who's this?"

"She's a friend of Nathan's."

He laughs with a wet sound in the back of his throat. "Your brother doesn't want you coming around here anymore but sends his girlfriend? That's rich. Really classy of him."

"He didn't send her. I told you, she's giving me a ride."

"So you want a hit?" he asks Max. "Percs? Xany? Shard? Take your pick, first one's always free." He spreads his hands across the end table next to him and her gaze catches on a straight glass meth pipe, glowing in the light of the tv. 

"No."

"Well, she's smarter than you, for sure," he says.

"Fuck you, Paul."

Instead of continuing to antagonize him, Kristine needs to shut up and give him the money already so they can leave, but there's no good way of subtly communicating this to her. 

Thankfully, Kristine lifts up her red backpack and pulls a wad of cash out, rubber band squeezed tightly around it. There's easily a couple thousand dollars there. She tosses it in the center of the table. "We good?"

"I know better than that by now." He pulls off the rubber band with a snap and begins to count the money. Kristine rolls her eyes. "Jessie!" he bellows suddenly, and Max jumps. "Where's my fucking stash?"

A door opens on the other side of the kitchen and a tall woman with a narrow, pointed face comes out looking irritated. She has on a men's football jersey that goes down to her knees and two inches of dark roots are grown out in her bleached hair. "I'm going to shoot that dog in the head if it doesn't learn to quit barking all the time."

"Mhmm." Paul doesn't look up from counting. 

"I mean it. Tie it up somewhere else, it's right under the front window."

"You don't live here anymore, _Jessie_ , you don't get to make demands."

"Tell that to Karl."

"Karl can suck my dick."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to tell him you said so."

"Where's the bag."

"I told you twenty fucking times it's in the cabinet." Jessie pulls open a cupboard near the refrigerator and produces a quart-size ziploc filled with assorted pills, separated into smaller baggies. Round blue ones, skinny white bars, capsules, and little green ovals. 

Paul motions to Kristine and Jessie throws the bag, hard, at her chest. She catches it and stuffs it into her red backpack, much to Max's alarm. 

"What are you looking at?" Jessie says suddenly. "Who the fuck is this?"

"She hasn't told us her name," Paul says, still counting.

Jessie skulks over, panther-like, and narrows her eyes. "Well?" she snaps. 

"It's Max," she says.

Before Jessie can respond, Paul exclaims and gets up from the couch. "It's two-fifty short." He crowds over Kristine, not looking so sleepy-eyed anymore.

Jessie gives a short laugh. "Oh, you have _got_ to be joking. After last time?"

"Dipping into the supply again, I see," Paul says. 

"No," says Kristine petulantly. "We just weren't able to move it all in time."

"That's ballsy. You're really gonna turn up here without the full amount?" Paul asks.

"Well, what choice did you give me? You're over here texting me that you're coming to trash my brother's place again if he doesn't show up with the money, so I'm bringing you what we have!" 

"Don't act like you'd ever do anything for someone else. The only person you look out for is yourself," Jessie says. 

"Now this makes more sense," says Paul suddenly, turning his attention to Max again. "You bring little Max in here for the big show, hoping she'll take pity on you and cover the rest for you?"

Her heart spasms against her ribs.

"No," Kristine snaps. "Nathan will bring the difference next time."

"With _interest_ ," he insists. "He better have five."

Her jaw drops. "Double? That's such bullshit, Paul!"

"What's bullshit is trying to short us and then bringing some fifteen year-old along in hopes that we'll let you off the hook. You're absolutely pathetic," Jessie says from the kitchen. 

"Fuck off and mind your own business, slut bitch."

She'd said it with such disdain that Max cringes in anticipation of the backlash, but it's Paul who cracks Kristine against the face, her head already whipped to the side before Max can even register what happened. He's got hold of her wrist with his other hand, a fiery expression on his face. 

In an instant Max recognizes him as the hollow-cheeked man from the company picnic. 

"Stop! Let her go." Max tugs uselessly on his arm. He swats her away as easily as if she were a mosquito. She stumbles, only to be pulled upright by Jessie, who's grabbed a handful of her shirt. 

"You tell your shit brother to be here in three weeks. Usual amount plus the five hundred from today's fuckup. We're gonna have a big problem otherwise. Understand?"

Kristine's leveled her gaze right at him in defiance. He twists her wrist farther and still she doesn't answer. 

"Yes, okay. We'll tell him," Max bursts. 

Paul releases her and Kristine continues to stare. Max pulls her shirt from Jessie's grasp.

"Let's go. Come on," Max urges in a low voice. "Come _on_."

Kristine bends down to pick up her backpack. 

Max can't get out of there fast enough and fumbles with the doorknob, barreling through the weeds past the barking dog. She pats down her pockets for a frantic second before remembering Kristine still has the keys from when she turned off the car. 

Kristine takes her sweet time coming down the walk, brightly flushed cheek and glitter-eyed. 

She unlocks the door and lets Max in. 

It isn't until the house is safely in the rearview mirror that they speak. 

"How could you let me walk into that?" she asks, anger bubbling over. 

"Stupid fucking Jessie. I didn't know she was going to be there. She made everything worse. She dumped Paul for his roommate last month and ever since then he's been in a shit mood whenever she's around. He always thinks that if he shows off enough in front of her, she'll come leaping back into his arms."

"I don't care, okay?" Max signals and turns back onto the main road. "I don't care about Jessie and roommates and who's dating who. You deliberately misled me. You failed to mention that you were meeting your shady dealer that hits women in a trailer park. And now I have to drive back into the city with a felony-level amount of drugs in a car that isn't even mine."

Kristine puts on a pair of sunglasses against the glare of the sun, eerily calm, like she's flipped an off switch somewhere inside, barely reacting to anything. She unzips the red backpack and rummages through it, coming back up with two blue pills that she swallows dry. Great, she thinks. That's just great. 

She remembers what Nathan said that night he'd walked her to the light rail. She'd asked him if he was involved in something illegal. _Morally questionable, maybe. But I wouldn't go so far as to say illegal._

A blatant lie. 

"What was the point of even dragging me in there? You said it would help."

"It _was_ better with you there. I got off easy."

"Everything you told me today was bullshit."

"I did want to hang out with you."

"You picked a fantastic way to do it." Kristine doesn't answer and Max lets out a sigh. "Look, are you alright?" The left side of her face still looks red. She remains silent.

When they get back into the city Max avoids major roads and keeps to residential streets as much as she can, checking and re-checking the rearview mirror like a nervous tic. She tells Kristine she'll drive her back to Nathan's and take the light rail home. Kristine sits like a marble statue. With her sunglasses on it would be hard to tell if she was even awake, if not for the uncharacteristically rigid way she's holding herself in the seat. 

A phone buzzes through the silence and Kristine wiggles it out of her back pocket. 

"Finally decided to check your texts, huh," she answers. "Yeah, I'm on my way back. Don't start, I'm not in the mood. What did you want me to do? I was doing you a favor. You were busy and he was threatening to send Karl over. Oh, that's _real_ easy for you to say after the fact." She leans forward and punches on the air conditioner, adjusting the vent toward her face. Max realizes she's talking to Nathan. "Yeah, obviously he noticed. He wants more next time, what a surprise. Find some rich idiots and upcharge? I don't know. We'll be there in five, so—What? Me and Max."

There's a pause and she hears a burst of exclamations on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, well, don't worry. I don't think she's going anywhere near me after this. Nothing. Seriously, nothing. Yeah, I get it. I get it. Can you just chill your shit until I make it home?"

Red and blue lights flood the mirror. A siren chirp follows and Max's stomach lurches into her throat.

" _Fuck_. Fucking shit, no, no, no." 

"Calm down," Kristine orders.

"No way is this happening."

"Keep it together." She says into the phone, "Gotta go," and drops it into her lap. 

"Oh, my God. Fuck." Bile threatens to splash up and she pulls the car over to the curb with robot-like precision. 

"Stop freaking out. It'll be fine, we didn't do anything."

"Then why are we getting pulled over?" Max yells.

"I don't know, but I do know if you don't calm down this will end a lot worse than it needs to."

"Do you realize what's in the front seat?"

"Calm _down_ , I swear to God. You're going to fuck this up if you don't shut your mouth and act normal."

Kristine starts digging through the glove compartment. In her panic Max forgets to roll down the window and jumps a mile when the cop knocks against the glass. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my bad about the cliffhanger. i had to split this chapter in two and the second part still needs some editing. 
> 
> i have the best readers, ily guys and i love hearing from you and chatting with you about goofy shit in the comments, thank you for sticking w this!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got my computer put back together! unfortunately it sucked me into vid game hell because i can run everything on ultra graphics now and it's a huge distraction. i meant to have this up so much sooner. will be editing previous chapters to add playlists sometime this month.

* * *

The cop sweeps her eyes over the interior of the car. "License?"

"Uh, right." Max twists to the backseat for her purse, willing her hands to quit shaking. 

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"N-no."

"There was a stop sign back there."

"I stopped," Max insists. 

"You rolled over the white line into the crosswalk first." She takes Max's license. Her blonde hair is pulled into such a severe bun that it looks like her eyes are being stretched backward. "Registration?"

"Yeah, I'm working on it," Kristine says, still pulling papers out of the glove box. There's a mantra in Max's head, please find it, please, please, please. Kristine's phone chirps with a text message and she ignores it.

The woman stares at Max like she's trying to break a code. "Do you have proof of insurance?" she finally asks.

"Um, I think so."

"Is this your vehicle?"

"No." She swallows hard.

"It isn't?" The cop's eyebrows fly up.

"I'm borrowing it from a friend," Kristine supplies, handing over the plastic sleeve with the registration in it and a ripped insurance card.

The cop leans in to get a better look at her. Apparently she doesn't like what she sees. "Is there anything in this vehicle I should know about?"

"No," blurts Max.

She's still fixated on Kristine. "Ma'am, do you have any identification on you?" 

"Why?" 

Max's eyes drift closed in a wince. 

"Because I'm asking for it."

"Why do you need to see it?"

She leans back and crosses her arms. "Because you're in a vehicle that doesn't belong to either of you and I'm trying to determine that everything is as it should be."

Kristine's face grows defiant like when she looked at Paul and in that moment Max could wring her neck. _Just give it to her_ , she wants to scream. Unzipping the backpack in jerky motions, Kristine produces her wallet. Max isn't sure how she manages to convey so much contempt in the simple motion of relinquishing her license, but she does. 

"This is expired," the cop says in a gotcha voice.

"That's _obviously_ why I'm not the one driving," she says as though the cop is exceptionally dense. Her phone chirps three more times in rapid succession.

Once the cop takes everything back to her car, Max says, "Will you give the attitude a rest? I'm trying to not get arrested here."

"'You rolled over the white line.' What a crock of shit, she's just looking for an excuse."

"Then don't give her one." 

"I'm not going to kiss her ass just because she has a badge."

"I get it, but maybe this isn't the best time to stand on principle? Maybe pick a time when we don't have a thousand dollars worth of fucking drugs sitting at your feet."

Kristine starts to laugh, a dazed sounding giggle, and she figures those pills have long since kicked in. Max doesn't know how much more she can take.

"She's taking forever," Max says after a while. 

"Yeah, they do that. They like to make you sweat."

It's working.

By the time the officer saunters back up to her window, Max feels ready to pass out. She wipes at a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Kristine's phone chirps again. 

"You need to be carrying a valid, current form of I.D." The cop hands back the papers and licenses.

Kristine stares straight ahead out the windshield. "I'll get right on that." Max would kick her if she could get her foot over the gearshift.

"And you, I'm giving you a warning. Pay more attention next time."

"I will."

Relief courses through her like a sweet shot of adrenaline. 

\--

They pull up on Nathan's street and he's already outside waiting. 

"Here we go," Kristine mutters to herself as she climbs out. Max's hands are still glued to the steering wheel in shock.

"What happened?" he demands.

"So sorry," says Kristine. "Was busy getting pulled over."

The blood drains from his face.

"What happened," he says again.

"Obviously it was fine or we wouldn't be here."

"How could you bring her there?" His eyes are hard and Max doesn't think she's ever seen him so angry. "What possible line of thinking could have led you to believe that was a good idea?"

"I'm fine, by the way. Thanks for your touching concern." Kristine shoves the red backpack at him.

"You brought her to _Paul's_. Dragged her right in the middle of our bullshit. Do you have any idea what could have happened? I told you I'd handle the runs from now on and you not only took it upon yourself to drive over anyway, but you bring _Max_?"

"You weren't home and you weren't answering! I didn't want you to get kicked out of your fucking place because Karl and co. showed up with lead fucking pipes to break down your door."

"There was no reason to bring her into this," he spits.

"Oh, let's all gang up on Kris! I did what I had to. You know I don't have a license."

"So you used her to get out of trouble, that's _real_ nice."

"Yes, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I knew any cop would take one look at her big doe eyes and Save the Ocean t-shirt and we'd be off the hook without a vehicle search, and that Paul would be distracted enough that I could get out of there quickly. And you know what? It worked, so I'm not sorry."

Max can't listen to any more. Deciding there wasn't going to be any good time to give back the keys, she leaves them in the ignition and gets out of the car, heading in the opposite direction. Their voices echo against the buildings behind her. 

\--

She doesn't get far. 

Nathan calls after her and she doesn't bother to turn around. She's already a block away and she hears his rapid footsteps catching up to her. Heat rises from the asphalt in a mirage. 

"Max, wait." His hair is disheveled like he's tried to pull it out while talking to Kristine. She keeps walking and he leaps into her path. For a second she thinks he's going to take her arm but he doesn't. She's sick of being grabbed. "Please let me explain."

"Not necessary. I think you're both idiots, but the situation's made itself clear."

He holds up his hands again when she tries to walk around him. "Wait. I know what you must be thinking and if you'll just hear me out I promise I'll never speak to you again if that's what you want."

His eyes look harrowed and piercing. "Please come upstairs so we can talk. Kris left, she won't be there."

"Nathan..."

"I'll get down on my goddamn knees if I have to." 

She stops him when he moves to kneel on the sidewalk. "Don't. If it means that much to you we can talk. Or you can, whatever." 

To her utter surprise he takes her face in both hands, far gentler than his tone of voice. "Fuck, I am so sorry. If I had any idea what she was up to—"

"I know." 

The feel of his hands on her skin and the way he's looking at her is overwhelming and she's finding it difficult to look him in the eyes or form any coherent thoughts. She almost leans into him. 

Whatever he wants to explain he's not willing to do it in the street and he slides his hand down into hers as they walk, leaving a trail of goosebumps down her arm. 

Upstairs they sit in his living room and she declines any drinks. He makes coffee anyway and brings out the sugar. 

"Tell me what happened. I couldn't get anything out of Kris."

Max shrugs. "She said she had to drop something off at a friend's. Paul let us in and got really mad when he realized she didn't have the full amount. Jessie came in and everything seemed to get worse from there. Paul said he wanted double the difference. Kristine kept antagonizing them and he hit her. I—tried to make him let go but Jessie grabbed hold of me. We left after that. They're expecting you back in three weeks."

He rubs his temple, eyes crinkled shut. "You're okay?"

"I mean, it sucked, but I'm not traumatized or anything if that's what you're asking."

He gets up and brings a clear glass piece with water out of his bedroom. It's small and he packs it with green, pulling deeply on his hit.

When she leans forward and takes it from his hands, he looks surprised. She wants something to take the edge off.

"I'll light it. Just inhale." He cups his hand around the flame and lifts the bowl for her to clear it. 

"Smoother than what I tried before."

"Jones was always a shit roller." He smiles and she's struck with how good it looks on him, eyes lit up and hair golden in the sun from the window. 

Max expects it to hit her all at once, but it's gradual. It creeps up behind her eyes and spreads to the rest of her until she feels a bit detached. Calm and almost happy. 

"Another one?" he offers.

"No."

He settles back into the sofa. He looks crushed under the weight of his thoughts as he sorts out where to begin. She can feel his warmth from beside her.

"A year ago Kris went to our parents for money—said it was for school," he starts. "She used it to rent a house and to fund a series of terrible decisions. Parties, impromptu traveling. Essentially fueling the beginning of a long-term drug habit. After two semesters passed it became obvious to them that she wasn't going to school and when she came back to them in trouble, looking for more money, they refused her.

"I hadn't heard from her in months. She shows up at my door begging me for cash. I didn't have a fucking cent for her and she left again. Something didn't sit right with me from the way she'd been acting. So I tracked her down at her friend's only to find her with a broken wrist. Face purple and black. Turns out she'd racked up a bunch of IOUs with some dealers, thinking she'd be able to get money from our parents to pay it off. Instead she vacated the house she was renting so she could use her security deposit to pay them. Lo and behold, she'd destroyed the place with her parties so she wasn't refunded any money."

He sighs and takes a gulp of black coffee. 

"I go looking for these guys, thinking they're just nickel and dime drug dealers and I could empty my savings and help her out. Well, leave it to Kris to get involved with the skeaziest, top-of-the-ladder distributors. They weren't fucking around. She had a _much_ more expensive habit than I thought. Owed them thousands. When they realized she wasn't good for the money this Karl motherfucker was trying to get her to work off her debt in his club. Customers paying for after-hours 'services' in 'donations' to keep it off the books and shit. I talked them down and made a different deal, selling his pharmaceuticals for him to pay off what she owes. Making runs for him. Basically any high-risk bullshit that he used to have to pay people to handle for him. They just about laughed me into the street at first, but I still had connections from school—I used to deal a little back then. Stakes are much higher, but the basic concept is still the same. I could do it if I had to.

"According to Paul's fucking black book we've worked off over half of it, but he's not giving us a fair one-to-one ratio. Not that I would expect him to be a man of his word, but he's milking this far past what Kris ever owed him. He'll use any excuse to rack up the debt, tacking on exorbitant interest if we so much as look at him wrong. He doesn't want to cut us loose. They know where we live...where we work. When I realized how badly we were being exploited I tried to pull out, told 'em they'd gotten their money's worth, but Karl showed up at Precision the next day and damn near got me fired. I wanted so badly to leave this shit behind me at school and now I'm up to my neck in it."

Nathan sits forward to take another hit, looking drained. Smoke swirls into the chamber and he holds in a lungful through gritted teeth.

"I don't even know what to say," says Max, watching the afternoon sun rays light up the cloud he exhales. She feels like she's in a dream. 

"Better not to say anything."

"No, I mean—I didn't know things were so bad. That you were being forced into this."

"No one forced me. I didn't want to see my sister get into more trouble. I didn't want her to have to deal with those guys anymore."

"Exactly, you're doing all this for her. And she acts so selfish."

"True, she doesn't make things easy. Especially when she can't keep her fucking hands out of the product, constantly taking some for herself."

Max doesn't mention the pills Kristine swallowed on their way back.

"But I know she feels guilty a lot of the time. Which is why she goes and does things like this. Trying to play the capable older sibling and taking trips over to Paul's. Says she can handle it when she clearly can't." 

"Can't Victoria help? With the money, I mean. Better to owe her than those guys."

Nathan winces. "She's offered. She helps out sometimes when we're short because of Kristine dipping into the stash too much, but the problem is until she's twenty-five, she can only take out so much from her trust each month. And most of it goes to that extravagant loft she's renting. Seriously, you'd throw up if you knew how much she pays per month for that place."

"Maybe if your parents knew how much trouble she was in they would agree to give you the money."

He laughs darkly. "Not a chance. That bridge is burned."

They fall into companionable silence and Max is struck with the injustice of Kristine's actions towards him. Nathan was practically killing himself to bear the brunt of her consequences and she was still lying and stealing pills and fighting with him. Max understood Victoria's angry lecture she'd overheard at Corrine's birthday—about Nathan going too easy on Kristine and enabling her. Her frustration at Nathan being taken advantage of had come across as anger towards him, but Max was certain that Victoria's feelings matched her own. 

\--

" _Fucking_ Lucia!" Rage engulfs her in a black swarm.

"Fucking Lucia," Corrine agrees in solidarity. Her face is filled with pity and it makes Max feel worse.

"Lucia with her new desk and her shiny little nameplate." Her voice reverberates in the back stairwell where she'd run to cool off after the news, knowing that if she had to sit in that office for a second longer she was going to lose it. 

"Hughes is a literal dumbfuck. It's been years and he still pronounces my name kuh-RIN instead of cor-een." 

Tears prick Max's eyes like needles but she blinks them away. "I can't believe this."

Metal creaks and the door swings open. Nathan spots them sitting on the top step and eases the door shut behind him.

She's mad for both of them. If not her, then at least Nathan should have gotten the job. He needed the extra money arguably worse than Max.

He waits a couple beats. "Assistant's position wasn't much of a step up, anyway," he tries. "She's just his lapdog at this point, fetching stuff for him and making appointments."

"It wasn't the work I was looking forward to, it was the pay increase. The benefits." 

He nods. "He'll be regretting his decision soon enough. No one's expecting her to do a good job."

"That won't help me any."

"No, but we can at least take joy in his misery."

"I guess."

\--

Max desperately needs a distraction and Corrine, always looking for a good time, convinces her to go out. 

The concert Corrine picks is in a tiny venue downtown and Vic is persuaded to go with them. Max is expecting to drown her frustrations in cheap beer and thrash around in a mosh pit. What she isn't expecting is a text from Warren Graham the night before.

 **Warren:** _Hey Max how's it going with you?_

She stares at the phone for a full minute before she can think to respond.

 **Max:** _Things are good, u?_

Not true, but she and him aren't very close these days.

 **Warren:** _I'm going to be in Portland tomorrow night and wondered if we could hang out_  
 **Max:** _I have plans tomorrow night! is there a diff time we can meet?_  
 **Warren:** _No good :( Only in town for the night. Any way you can reschedule?_  
 **Max:** _I already bought tickets. if you're up for a gig we can catch up there_

She hasn't seen Warren since senior year. Graduation. He'd been so upset with her when she ended things between them, and she understood why so many people were reluctant to get romantically involved with their good friends. If the relationship ended, usually the friendship did, too. 

Max doesn't know where Corrine finds these places, but she's grateful for it and feels the rising energy of anticipation from around her. Dim light bathes the tiny venue, walls painted with posters and band ads. The bar is roped off in the back, inaccessible to any minors without the paper wristbands given at the door. They hover near it and she tells Corrine that an old friend is coming.

"Chloe?"

"No, someone else from school. Warren."

"Warren," she repeats. "This isn't by any chance...the ex?"

"So what if it is?"

"That's an interesting move on your part. I thought things ended badly."

She shrugs. "They did on his end. But we were friends at one point. He wants to hang out, he's only in town tonight. He's nice."

Corrine sticks her tongue out in a mock gag. 

"You better not be mean to him."

She holds her hands out defensively. "Whatever, man. If you say so. I guess that explains the eyeliner and the sexy shirt you're wearing, though." She winks and spots an opening at the bar, darting away to place an order. 

The truth is it doesn't have anything to do with Warren. Kristine's comment about her appearance had stung more than it should have. Depressed as she is lately, she rarely put any effort in her appearance outside of work anymore. Earlier that evening she stared at herself critically in the bathroom mirror, determined to do something different. 

A few text messages later and Warren finds her next to the bar. He pulls her into a hug before she can decide the best way to greet him. His hair is shorter but he looks mostly the same. His puppy-dog smile tugs at her. 

They exchange minor small talk when Corrine pushes her way back through the crowd to them, Victoria in tow. 

"Corrine, this is Warren."

"What's up," she says in a neutral tone. Max gives her a look.

"Don't I know you from Blackwell?" Victoria asks. 

"Yeah, we were in the same year. Nice to see you," he says politely. Max figures he's probably surprised to see Victoria. If he is, he plays it off well. 

"So what brings you to Portland?" asks Vic.

"Principal Wells invited me back to the school to give an end-of-the-year alumni speech. I flew in a little bit ago and I rented a car to drive over tomorrow morning."

"Oh, yeah. I remember getting an email about that. Opted out of it," Victoria says. "So you're going to go inspire the baby teenagers, huh?"

"Ha. I guess." He shrugs. 

One of the openers is getting ready to start, and there's a whine of feedback from the speakers. The house lights cut and the stage floods in pink.

"Don't bother moving up," Corrine says. "This one sucks. We're waiting for the headliner." 

"I've never heard of any of these bands," says Warren. 

"They're local. She's right, just wait for the headliner, they're really good."

"I'm going to get something to drink," he yells as the music starts up.

Max drinks her foamy beer out of a plastic cup, watching Corrine and Victoria. It's the first time she's seen them together since she found out about them hooking up. Besides Vic standing unusually close to her, Max doesn't notice anything different between them. 

They play a short three songs and the house lights turn back on.

"It's really great to see you," Warren tells her.

"Yeah, you too."

"What are you doing these days?" Victoria interjects.

"I live in Seattle. I'm working in IT." His answers sound guarded, which Max can understand. 

She sees a familiar face in the crowd heading toward them and her pulse leaps. "I didn't know Nathan was going to be here."

"Neither did I," Corrine says. "Vic must have invited him."

"Well, duh," replies Vic. "If any of us are going to be successful at cheering Max up, it'll be him."

Warren turns to look at Max sharply. She drains her cup. 

Nathan joins them and the atmosphere is...not great. This was a horrible idea. All she'd wanted to do was unwind from a shitty week, not marinate in the awkward tension of an ex-boyfriend. 

Finally Corrine takes pity on her. "We're going for a cigarette." Nathan doesn't move and she pulls him by the arm, leaving Max with Warren.

His shoulders relax and he turns to her. "I gotta say, I'm a little blindsided."

"Yeah. That wasn't my intention."

"To be fair, you did tell me you had plans." He gives her an easy smile. "So what happened that you need cheering up?"

"I was hoping to land a permanent position where I work. I've been temping, working my ass off. I really thought I would get it."

"That's a major bummer."

Just talking about it is like picking at a fresh wound.

He continues, "You ought to work somewhere they appreciate you."

"Yeah. So anyway." She silently begs him to change the subject.

"How the hell did you end up friends with those two?"

"Nathan and I work together. I reconnected with Victoria through him."

"That's so crazy." He laughs and it sounds sarcastic.

Nathan sidles back up to them and Max can't smell any cigarette smoke on him. He stands next to her and his hand hovers over the small of her back, brushing her lightly before pulling away. He's wearing a deep green shirt she hasn't seen him in before tonight. 

Warren's tone changes. "I'll get you another beer, Max."

By the time he returns, Corrine and Vic have come back inside. They make some more forced conversation until Victoria asks with an air of innocence, "Didn't you two used to date?" Apparently she's realized that Corrine's been given instructions to behave, leading her to take matters into her own hands. 

She'd directed the question at Max but it's Warren who answers, leaning in closer. "Sure did. For almost a year. We hit a lot of milestones together. A lot of firsts."

There are heavy implications in the way he says it. Max sucks down half her beer. 

"Well, you know," Nathan remarks, "high school is great for practice runs." 

He locks eyes with Warren and casually eases Max's drink into his own hand, taking a sip of it like it's an intimacy they share all the time. Possessive. He gives it back to her without breaking eye contact. 

Behind Warren's shoulder, Corrine mouths, _oh my God!!!_ Eyes wide and incredulous.

"Let's hit the bathrooms before the band goes on," Victoria says, leading the way toward the lobby. 

The door bangs open and Corrine lets out a gust of air. "What a fucking power move! If anyone else had done that it wouldn't have meant anything, but the way he pulled that off. So subtle, yet so effective." She leans into the mirror and darkens her red lipstick.

"That's Nathan for you," Victoria supplies, going into a stall.

"It was unnecessary," says Max.

"Warren started it with that whole 'I fucked her first' thing. If you're going to be offended at anything, it should be that." 

"Ugh, shut _up_ , Vic." Max squishes her hands against her face.

Corrine spits laughter and pockets her lipstick. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hold tight, we're not done with this scene. next update friday 26th march


End file.
